


Recompense and Redress

by QueenOfTheDreamers (QueenOfDreamers)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, WIP, dramione - Freeform, novel-length
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-15 08:49:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 51,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13027518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfDreamers/pseuds/QueenOfTheDreamers
Summary: "I do not ever expect that you and I would be on friendly terms. I know I said and did a great many things when I believed so thoroughly in the rubbish. Just the same, I think it only decent that should apologise to you. It is, almost certainly, the very least I can do. I am very sorry, Hermione, for the words I used against you. I am sorry for the mockery, the… hatred. I am very tired of being hateful, and I see no purpose in it anymore. For any of the hate that was directed at you, I do apologise. I do not expect you to accept it, but I offer it anyway."This was not at all what Hermione had expected when the serving witch had said someone wanted to meet with her.***************************************************************August 1999. Hermione's finished her N.E.W.T.s, restored her parents' memories, and is in a relationship with Auror-in-training Ron Weasley. When Draco Malfoy asks to meet and presents what seems to be a genuine apology, Hermione's confused and Ron's enraged. But when Hermione decides to forgive, determined to move herself and the world forward, she sees the wizard Draco can be.Dramione, slow-burn, novel-length WIP.





	1. Anonymous

_August 1999_

"I need you to understand why I did what I did."

Hermione's mother dabbed at her eyes and nodded.

"We're just glad you're all right, darling. I can't imagine… living the rest of our lives without knowing you, without remembering you."

"What unfathomable courage it took for you to do that, Hermione," her father said then, "to try and protect us. But you're our daughter. You must know how disturbing, how awful it is to think of you in some sort of… magical combat. Camping out in the snow. They must all think of you as a great heroine now."

"It doesn't matter," Hermione mumbled. She stared at her hands in her lap and said, "I went back to school to finish my N.E.W.T.s… they're like Leaving Certs. I wanted to finish my education. Harry and Ron didn't go back; they went straight to work for Ministry. It took me so long to find you both… to search in Australia. I haven't been working myself. I've been out of school for a few months now. I haven't yet decided where I'll go or what I'll do."

"But you must live here with us, darling," her mother said, her eyes wet. "It's been years and years since we've seen you properly. Please. Just stay here with us. Take a job in that world if you will, but… stay with us."

Hermione nodded a little and set down her teacup.

"I'm meant to meet Ron for dinner in Diagon Alley. We've been… you know, we began… dating."

Hermione's father smiled a little and nodded. "He's a kind soul, that boy."

Hermione felt a little twinge of unease. In truth, she and Ron had been sniping back and forth quite a lot lately, owing to Ron's stressful Auror training and Hermione's endless search for her parents. She rose from the sofa and embraced her parents one at a time, looking around the townhouse she'd arranged for her parents to rent upon their return from Australia, and then she said,

"I'll keep staying here, if that's all right. I'll be back later tonight."

Then she Disapparated, coming to inside the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

"Hi, 'Mione."

"You're late, Ronald." Hermione stared at her empty mug of Butterbeer. Ron dragged his fingers through his ragged orange hair and plopped down in the seat opposite Hermione. When a serving girl went by, Ron said quietly,

"Butterbeer and a Shepherd's Pie, please." He adjusted his dusty robes and told Hermione, "Training was hard today. Harry and I were both struggling just a little with some tracking stuff, and… you know, it's really bloody hard, tracking! Hunting people down. You'd think that after hunting down Horcruxes, we'd be able to track people more easily, but… yeah, it's really quite hard. Quite difficult. We managed."

"Oh. Good." Hermione pinched her lips and sighed. He didn't care. He never really cared, not about anything except himself. She shut her eyes and said softly, "I restored their memories today. My parents. They'd gotten settled into the townhouse, you know. I had rented a new dental office space for them. I'm tired, too. It's difficult work, restoring the memories of parents you forced to forget you."

She opened her eyes, and suddenly Ron looked a little ashamed. He nodded as the serving girl put down his Butterbeer and his Shepherd's Pie. Hermione poked her spoon at her own stew, and she said quietly,

"They remember everything. Every birthday. Every Christmas. The day Professor McGonagall told them I was a witch. I have them back now."

"Well, that's good work, 'Mione," Ron said with a lopsided smile. "That's real good work."

"Good work," she repeated, shaking her head. "They're my parents, Ron. This isn't Auror training. I've got my family back."

"Yeah, but Harry and I are your family, you know? I know you've missed them, but you haven't exactly been alone, have you?"

Hermione set her spoon down and shook her head. "You're unbelievable."

"Excuse me."

Hermione huffed out a breath and looked up. The round-faced serving witch looked rather anxious as she said,

"There's a wizard in the private dining space who wonders if he might have a few minutes to speak with Miss Hermione Granger."

"Who is this wizard?" Hermione asked, for she'd been the subject of all manner of interviews and 'fan encounters' ever since she and Harry and Ron had been identified as 'heroes' of the last war. The serving girl looked more anxious than ever and insisted,

"He asked to remain anon… anonmonous."

"Anonymous," Hermione corrected.

"She's not going to meet with some random wizard in a private room!" Ron exclaimed, and Hermione scowled.

"I think I can make up my own mind, Ronald," she said. She wouldn't normally meet alone with someone who refused to identify himself, but she found herself cross with Ron today, and so she pulled out her wand and said to the serving witch, "Take me to the private room, will you? Ron, I'll see you later."  
"Hermione!" he protested loudly, but she ignored him. She followed the round-faced witch around the bar area to a curtained space in the corner. The witch gestured toward the curtains and said in a shaking voice,

"He's in there, Miss Granger."

"Thank you." Hermione held her wand at the ready and pulled the curtain back quickly. Her eyebrows flew up as soon as she saw the pale, blond young wizard sitting alone at a round table, a tumbler of firewhisky before him. Hermione stepped inside and lowered her wand just a little, letting the curtain close behind her.

"Draco Malfoy."

"Hello… Miss… Miss Granger." Draco's high cheekbones went very pink, and he dragged his thumb around the rim of his tumbler. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

"I did not agree to meet with you," Hermione pointed out. "I was informed that an anonymous wizard wanted to speak with me. Rather unwisely, I came without demanding more information."

"Will you sit, please?" Draco's voice was just a whisper then, which seemed very odd. Hermione frowned very deeply but sank down onto the velvet bench on the other side of the round table from Draco. She adjusted her grip on her wand and swallowed hard as she shrugged.

"What do you want? Here to taunt me? Call me a Mudblood?"

"No. Actually… well, those days are over, I think." Draco stared straight into the amber liquor in his glass and mumbled, "I grew up being told over and over that I was better than people like you. Better even than the Weasleys, who were Purebloods, but to be spit upon just the same. I was told I was amazing, that my family was amazing. That we were the only future the wizarding world had. And I think now, after some time has passed since… since that great battle… I think that everything I was told as a child was… wrong."

Hermione's mouth fell open, and her stomach quivered with nerves. She shook her head a bit and whispered,

"How did you come to this conclusion?"

Draco raised his eyes, powder blue and shining, and he took a sip of his drink. He finally noted,

"You always got better marks than me in school. You were always a brilliant pupil. But you were born to Muggles. My father scolded me for 'letting you' outrank me with academics, but I knew even then. You were more clever. You were more talented. And you came from Muggles. So after that battle at Hogwarts, I began to wonder… how is it that so many Purebloods - Crabbe and Goyle perhaps most egregiously - could be complete imbeciles, whilst Muggle-borns like you and… and… and  _Potter_ … could be exemplary."

Hermione set her wand down on the table and felt her eyes burn unexpectedly.

"Draco Malfoy," she said softly, "are you confessing to me, to the girl you spent years mocking relentlessly, the girl who punched you, the girl who… are you confessing to me that perhaps your family's views on so-called 'Blood Purity' are wrong?"

Draco looked completely abashed then. He swigged from his drink, finishing it off, and he said,

"I have not spoken to my father in eight months. My mother… I sent her an owl on her birthday. But I've been on my own. I don't see as I have any choice but to leave that world behind. My mind won't let me do it. True enough, I'll always be stuck with this…"

He peeled back the left sleeve of his robe sleeve, and Hermione sucked in breath at the sight of his dormant pink Dark Mark. Draco shoved his sleeve back down and said,

"I do not ever expect that you and I would be on friendly terms. I know I said and did a great many things when I believed so thoroughly in the rubbish. Just the same, I think it only decent that should apologise to you. It is, almost certainly, the very least I can do. I am very sorry, Hermione, for the words I used against you. I am sorry for the mockery, the… hatred. I am very tired of being hateful, and I see no purpose in it anymore. For any of the hate that was directed at you, I do apologise. I do not expect you to accept it, but I offer it anyway."

This was not at all what Hermione had expected when the serving witch had said someone wanted to meet with her. She blinked a few times and admitted,

"I thought perhaps there was a writer for the  _Daily Prophet_  waiting in this room. This…  _you_. This is not what I thought I'd find. And I'm not sure what to say to you, Draco. My soul is conflicted, to say the least. The way you tormented me, and Ron, and Harry… it was relentless. It was endless. I do not know if I am big enough to forgive you. And, yet, I remember the way you hesitated with Bellatrix Lestrange to identify me. I remember the way you walked away from Voldemort. I remember the way you testified at all those trials after the battle. The way you rather bravely sent your relatives and family friends to be punished for their crimes. If this your way of trying to atone, trying to move forward… I suppose I would be rather a lousy advocate for decency myself if I did not tell you that I wish you the best. Whether I can forgive you… I'm not sure of that. But I accept that you're trying to be a better wizard than you once were, and I wish you all the best in that endeavour. I should go."

She pulled herself out of the bench and snatched her wand off the table. Draco held up a little rectangle of parchment with some neat writing on it, and Hermione frowned as she took it.

_D. Malfoy_

_24 Scarsdale Villas_

_Kensington, London_

"I'm not living at Malfoy Manor anymore," Draco said carefully. "My new residence is registered with the Ministry, but… if you should ever find any reason whatsoever to… I don't know, to write or something…"

"To write," Hermione repeated. Her eyebrows crumpled. "Why on Earth would I write to you, Draco Malfoy?"

His face went scarlet again, and suddenly she realised he had no friends left. Many of his Slytherin lackeys had either been locked up or would have completely eschewed his companionship if he rejected the ideas of Blood Purity. If he was no longer in touch with his parents, then he probably wasn't in touch with any cousins or aunts or uncles or grandparents, either. He had no Pansy Parkinson, no Gregory Goyle these days.

He was all alone, Hermione thought. And he was sorry. Did it matter? Could it ever possibly matter? Hermione tucked the little card into the pocket of her robes and said with as much compassion as she could muster,

"Be well, Draco. Goodbye."

"Bye." Draco lowered his eyes again, and Hermione shoved the curtain aside and strode out of the compartment without another word. She quickly made her way to where Ron Weasley sat, having finished his Shepherd's Pie and moved onto a glass of chocolate mousse. Hermione asked lightly,

"Did you order me dessert?"

"No, but I kept your stew warm," Ron said, his mouth full of mousse. Hermione frowned a bit and sat back down, her appetite entirely gone. Ron swallowed his mousse and asked, "So? Was it a reporter? A fan?"

"It was Draco Malfoy," Hermione said softly. She watched Ron's face twist into a hideous grimace. He set down his dessert spoon and demanded,

"What in the hell did  _he_  want?"

Hermione felt her cheeks go warm. "He wanted to apologise."

"For being a complete git, a totally intolerable bigot? A criminal and an enemy? You don't get to apologise for that. And, anyway, he isn't sorry."

Hermione felt a surge of anger then. She shoveled some stew into her mouth and gulped down some Butterbeer.

"How are any of us meant to move forward from this war, from this endless conflict, if both sides can't consider forgiveness? Atonement? Apology?"

"We don't have to apologize for anything," Ron hissed, "and I don't accept any apology from Draco Malfoy."

"Lucky, then, that he was apologising to me and not to you," Hermione said, folding her hands on the table. Ron's freckled face went the colour of beetroot, and he shoved his chocolate mousse away. He slammed a few coins onto the table and said,

"I'm going home before this turns into a public fight, 'Mione."

"Yes, the last time we argued in public, it wound up in the  _Prophet_ ," Hermione recalled. Ron curled up his lip at her and shook his head as he stood.

"You're better than this. Better than forgiving scum like him."

"Scum." Hermione shook her head. "What drove this war in the first place, Ronald? Hate. Bias. Dogmatism. Tribalism."

"I don't need a lecture from you. I have more intense tracking training in the morning," Ron said from where he loomed above Hermione. "I really hope you understand that Harry cares about you, that I  _really_  care about you, and that Draco Malfoy is still and always will be our enemy. Congratulations on getting your parents back."

Hermione said nothing as he stormed away, over toward the giant fireplace. She watched him take a fistful of Floo Powder, knowing he was going to the little flat he and Harry shared in Shoreditch. As Ron vanished into an explosion of green flame, Hermione gnawed on her lip, her eyes flicking back to the curtained space where she knew Draco Malfoy sat alone.

She left via Apparition after ensuring Ron had paid sufficiently, going back to her parents' house and determining that they would watch some Muggle television programming.

**Author's Note: This will be my first foray into Dramione. This will be a novel-length slow burn. I look forward to hearing your feedback. Please do let me know what you think, and thanks for reading!**


	2. 24 Scarsdale Villas

" _And, unfortunately, a bit of tragic news this evening. Helen Rollason, beloved sport journalist and television presenter, has died at the age of forty-three following a two year battle with cancer of the colon._ "

"Oh, no! That's awful! I've loved her during the Olympics!" exclaimed Hermione's mother. Hermione looked up from the card in her hand and feigned a look of deep concern.

"What's happened?"

Her father frowned. "Helen Rollason died. The sporting presenter."

"Oh. That's too bad." Hermione dragged her thumb over the edge of the card and finally said, "Mum, Dad, I have to… go somewhere. I've got to go see Ron. I'll be back. Tomorrow, probably."

"Tomorrow?" Her mother cocked up a brow and smirked as she sipped from her tea. Her father looked a little embarrassed, but he rolled his eyes and said,

"She's almost twenty years old. Let her go."

"Right. See you." Hermione stepped quickly out of the sitting-room, away from the television and the tea and the biscuits. It had been three days since she'd seen Draco Malfoy in the Leaky Cauldron. She wasn't going to see Ron; Ron and Harry were at Auror training right now. She was going to the address on the card.

She stared at it for a long moment in the dining room.

_D. Malfoy_

_24 Scarsdale Villas_

_Kensington, London_

Hermione concentrated hard on the location and then whirled to her right, Disapparating in expert silence. When she came to, she was on the sidewalk outside a neat row of white Victorian houses. She stared up at number twenty-four, sighing a little as she studied the painted black door and the wrought iron gate. She opened the gate and shut it behind her, walking with completely falsified confidence up to the front door. She raised her fist to knock and hesitated.

If Ron knew she was here, he'd be furious. If Harry knew, he'd be even more irate. In a way, Hermione could hardly blame them. Draco Malfoy was the son of Death Eaters; he'd become a Death Eater himself. He'd been tasked with the murder of Albus Dumbledore and had nearly succeeded, saved only by Severus Snape's self-sacrificing bravery. He had been taught Occlumency by Bellatrix Lestrange. He'd been a bully, a tormenting git who had mocked and derided and spat slurs for years.

They were meant to hate Draco Malfoy, and for many years, all three of them had done just that. And that was exactly why Hermione rapped her fist five times on the slick black door before her.

She waited for what felt like an eternity. Finally, the door swung open, and Hermione expected to see a House-Elf standing there. It would have been most appropriate, she thought, that a Malfoy have an elf open the door on his behalf. Instead, Draco himself stood before her, his blond hair carefully combed, standing in a neatly tailored suit of the darkest blue. He looked completely surprised, then steadied his face and said,

"Hello."

"May I come inside?" Hermione asked, tipping her chin up a little. "I'd like to talk a bit more."

"Erm… yes. Of course." Draco opened the door and stepped aside. The elegant Victorian home was beautifully appointed in rich dark greens and burgundies and blues, but it seemed profoundly empty. The grandfather clock in the corridor chimed six, and it seemed to be calling out to no one at all. There were little dust motes in the air, highlighted by the golden summer evening light streaming through the windows, but all they did was show how very still the air was.

"D-Do you care for tea?" Draco shut the door, and Hermione scowled as she realised that  _Draco Malfoy_ of all people had just offered her tea. She shook her head and followed Draco into a small, uncrowded sitting room with stout dark furniture and heather grey walls. She sat on a sofa of black and grey tweed, and Draco sat opposite her, seeming very uneasy as he asked, "What brings you to Kensington, Miss Granger?"

"You're very different than you once were," Hermione noted suddenly. "You used to scoff all the time. You were loud. Brash. You were very confident in hating me."

Draco dragged his tongue over his teeth and tipped his head. "I did apologise, I think."

"Yes, you did. But something's changed. Are you Imperiused?" Hermione set her wand beside her, and Draco laughed darkly.

"Would I know if I were?" he pointed out. Then, shaking his head, he said, "No. I… woke up, as it were. I looked around me and saw villains. All sorts of villains. Weak ones, like my parents. Heartless ones like my Aunt Bellatrix. Power-hungry ones the Dark Lord. Sycophants willing to do anything - Yaxley and Avery, Nott and Mulciber. All around me, I saw people who were idiots and best and wicked at worst, very convinced that people like you ought not to exist at all."

Hermione stared at her hands in her lap. She dragged the pad of her thumb over her sharp nail edge and said,

"Ron and Harry. Ginny Weasley. People like them would be very pleased to see you rot away in a cell in Azkaban for everything you've done."

Draco said nothing. Finally, still staring at her nail, Hermione told him,

"I need to know this is not some sort of trap. Why are you reaching out to  _me_? Why not the others?"

"The others will never forgive me," Draco said simply. "Harry Potter and I will never be friends. Ronald Weasley will never see me as a halfway decent wizard. Katie Bell will never forgive the way I nearly snuffed her life. I know better than to expect any semblance of absolution from them."

"Absolution," Hermione repeated with a bitter little snort. "And what makes you think you'll get any absolution from me?"

Suddenly she could see Draco, much younger, his face twisted with blind hatred as he called her a Mudblood. She turned her face from him and whispered,

"You were so awful."

"I know. And the only reason I expect… well, I don't expect anything of you. It's only that I suspect you might actually think about it, where the others won't."

"And why do you want to be forgiven in the first place?" Hermione snapped her face up, and Draco's pale bottom lip shook just a little. He finally shrugged and told her,

"I don't mean to play the victim here, but it is rather a difficult task to reconcile that perhaps you don't… shit gold. If you know I mean."

It was a vile analogy, but Hermione did suspect she knew what he meant. Draco Malfoy had been raised as the treasured only child of two of the haughtiest creatures ever to exist. He'd been dragged into a gang of vile, vicious foot soldiers for the worst wizard who had ever existed. Was there some chance, some niggling little hope that perhaps Draco's actual soul was not tainted all the way through? That perhaps, just  _maybe_ , Draco Malfoy himself was not the sum of his upbringing?

"I've been trying to explain to the others - to my friends - that there needs to be some sort of reconciliation if the wizarding world is going to move past any of this," Hermione said, folding her ankles primly. "You see, I did study Muggle history, and… well, after the Second World War, there were entire nations of people who had done awful things. Terrible things. Some of them were  _very_  guilty, and they were imprisoned or executed. Others just went along with it, feeling like they didn't have much of a choice. And after the war, those people did have a choice. Set fire to their pasts and move forward in decency, or… drown in the crimes of a war that had ended."

Draco's pale eyes seemed wet, and Hermione could hear the shake in his breath from where she sat. He finally shrugged and said,

"I don't much care about whether the wizarding world finds some great harmony, some beautiful unity. I just want… the nightmares to stop. And something tells me that an attempt to make amends, even if it's only with one person…"

He trailed off then, and Hermione felt a sudden flush of pity for him. Pity. For  _him_ , for Draco Malfoy. A tear unexpectedly wormed its way over the bottom lid of her eye, and she wrenched it away with a knuckle. She took a steadying breath and said,

"Draco, I want you to remember something. When the time came, when you had run out of stalling tactics and failed attempts… at the end of it, you could not bring yourself to kill him."

Dumbledore, she meant. Draco lowered his eyes and nodded. He huffed a little breath and whispered,

"Well. I've apologised to you, Hermione. Take it or leave it. There's nothing more I can do."

"You can help me," Hermione corrected him, and Draco frowned as he looked up. Hermione had ideas running through her might all of a sudden, and she blinked quickly as she said, "Who better to illustrate the potential for widespread reconciliation than one of the Golden Trio and Draco Malfoy himself?"

Draco snorted and shook his head, the familiar little snarl working its way over his lips. "You think I'm going to appear on the front page of the  _Prophet_ , grinning like a fool and shaking your hand, Granger?"

"Ah. There he is. I thought perhaps he'd died, that Draco Malfoy." Hermione smirked a little at him, and Draco wiped the look of contempt from his face.

"I'm not going to humiliate myself for your cause," he said. "This is your damned House-Elf Rights crusade all over again."

"S.P.E.W.," Hermione said tightly. "I've applied for a Ministry position that would allow me to continue that work, as it happens."

"Well, good. I hope you get it. Fight for the House-Elves. I'm not going to be the poster boy of Dark Witches and Wizards Reformed. And, no, you should not start that organisation."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh a little at that. She let out a very long sigh and studied Draco again. There was something so fragile about him, something that seemed like a tap from the wrong direction might shatter him. His pale blue eyes bored straight into Hermione's, and finally she said,

"Well, think on it. On the idea of helping me. Our world needs examples of forgiveness. So I'll begin. I forgive you, Draco Malfoy. For all the times you put my life and the lives of my friends at risk, I forgive you. For your horrid bigotry - the hate you claim to no longer possess - I forgive you. For your childish cruelty and for accepting the deeply flawed mentalities of those around you, I forgive you. And because you severed yourself from that world, from those people, I am… surprisingly pleased. I have hope. I have hope that you will live a good life, be a good wizard. I have hope that our world can find peace at last, that people can just…  _be_. Together. I do forgive you, Draco Malfoy."

He was chewing so hard on his lip that Hermione saw a thin little trickle of blood ooze from between his teeth. She picked up her wand and aimed it at him, and for a moment she saw a flash of terror in his eyes. But she just whispered,

" _Episkey._ "

His lip healed up at once, and Draco adjusted the way he sat on his own sofa. He turned his face to stare at a painting on the wall, a morbid sort of portrait of a starving woman begging an uncaring rich man for a coin to feed her infant. It was a hamfisted choice of decoration, Hermione thought, and it almost certainly felt like a self-portrait to Draco. He gazed up at the painting as he informed her,

"I was always insanely jealous of you, you know. You did magic like it was nothing. I was born into it; I practically hand a wand in my hand when I came out of the womb. But you… a girl plucked out of the Muggle world and shoved onto the Hogwarts Express… you had more intelligence and pluck and ability than I could even conceptualise. I hated you not just because of who your parents were, but because you were so very damned powerful. And pretty."

"Pretty." Hermione chuckled and shook her head. Her eyes seared as she said, "What, you didn't think a Muggle-born could be pretty? Thank the Sleekeazy's; my hair was a total rat's nest for years until I figured out how to use it properly."

"It wasn't the Sleekeazy's," Draco mumbled, still staring at the painting. "It was your mind that made you pretty, and that annoyed me.  _You_  annoyed me because I envied you and the people around you, and… I had stupid reasons for hating you, reasons I was regurgitating and making even worse all on my own. But I hope you know how very jealous I was."

There was a very long silence then. Hermione listened to the ticking of the clock on the fireplace mantle and studied the bright white crown moulding around the perimeter of the room.

"This is a nice house," she said rather absently, and Draco immediately said,

"I know what you're thinking. A nice house bought with Malfoy family money." He snapped his face to her and shook his head vehemently. "I've insisted my father write me out of his will. I don't take a Sickle from them. I bought this house a few months ago with my salary from my own work."

"Your own work." Hermione's brows flew up. "And what work is that?"

Draco's lips parted a little, and he said curtly, "Department of Mysteries. I can't say any more than that."

"Oh." Hermione felt profoundly surprised at that. She finally stammered, "R-Ron and Harry. They're training to be Aurors."

"I know," Draco nodded, and Hermione shrugged.

"Yes, I suppose you would. I've got an interview next week for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I suppose you knew that, too."

Draco just blinked, and finally he said, "Good luck."

"Thanks," Hermione mumbled. She felt her cheeks go a little warm for some reason. The wizard before her was not the same little boy who had hurled insults and slurs at her. He wasn't the weak-minded pawn of his hateful parents. He'd grown up; he'd developed his own thought processes. He'd matured into something very different than the little monster Hermione had so despised.

"I do forgive you," she whispered, and Draco nodded once. Hermione rose from her sofa, and Draco slowly followed her out to the front door. She had her hand on the knob as she told him,

"See you in the lifts at the Ministry sometime, perhaps. If I get the position."

Draco tipped his head. "You'll get the position. Goodbye, Hermione."

She frowned a little but said, "Goodbye, Draco."

**Author's Note: So Draco knows better than to ask forgiveness from the ones who could** _ **never**_   **forgive him, but he also wants no part in Hermione's S.P.E.W.-like crusade to publicize reconciliation in the wizarding world. Oh, and he thought she was pretty. And he works for the Department of Mysteries. Lots to process here. Now… what happens when Hermione tells Harry, Ron, and Ginny that she verbally forgave Draco Malfoy? Hmm… Thanks as always for reading and please do leave a review if you get a moment.**


	3. Scrooge

"Oh. Hello, Ginny. Are the boys in?" Hermione shifted where she stood in the corridor outside Harry and Ron's Shoreditch flat. In the unit across the way, someone was blasting Muggle rock music rather obnoxiously. Ginny showed Hermione in and said,

"They're playing Wizard's Chess. You know Ron. He likes to demolish people at the things he's good at and… well, Harry likes to fight, so."

The two witches laughed a little, and Hermione stepped slowly into the kitchen, where the boys were sitting at a linoleum table.

"Knight to E-7," Ron said very imperiously, apparently not noticing that Hermione had come. His piece started sliding across the board, and Ginny cleared her throat softly.

"Hermione's here."

"Oh, hi. Hold on one second." Ron watched intently as his chess piece smashed Harry's. Harry threw his hands up and declared,

"I hate playing this game with you."

Ron smirked and then finally looked up. He raised his orange eyebrows and said,

"Bloody hell. You look pretty."

Hermione's cheeks went hot. All she'd done today was put her hair into a braid down her back, apply just a little mascara and lip balm, and dress in smarter clothes than usually. Apparently, that was enough for a compliment. Well, she'd take it, she thought.

"Listen," she said meaningfully, "I know you're playing a game, but… I need to talk with you. All three of you."

Ron seemed to sense the gravitas in her words, so he and Harry started to pack the game up into its leather box. Ginny used her wand to start brewing up some tea, and Hermione went to sit in one of the rickety chairs at the kitchen table. She sat between Harry and Ron, looking at each of them, and Harry frowned.

"Has something happened? Is it your parents?"

"No, it's not my parents." Hermione watched as Ron poured a cup of tea and put just a little milk and sugar in, just how she liked. He pushed the teacup toward her and asked,

"Well, what is it, then?"

Ginny looked worried, too, and finally Hermione wrapped her hands around the hot cup of tea and murmured,

"As Ron knows, I met with Draco Malfoy the other day."

"Yes. Ron told Harry, and Harry told me," Ginny said sharply. "Tell me you haven't seen him since, Hermione."

"Well." Hermione lifted her cup and let the tea scald her throat as she sipped at it. The other three looked horrified, and Hermione tipped her chin up a bit. "Harry, even you're a Half-Blood, and you were famous by the time you went to Hogwarts. None of you, none of the three of you, understand what it has meant for the past decade to be Muggle-born. And for decades before that. None of you really know."

"I don't exactly think throwing accusations at  _us_  is going to help whatever's going on," Harry said, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You don't mean to… to forgive him."

Hermione was quiet, and Ginny scoffed loudly.

"That bleeding idiot was nothing but hateful to you, Hermione, and I don't need to be Muggle-born to know that. He was evil to everyone. To all of us. You'd betray us by -"

"Us. Them." Hermione raised her eyes to Ginny's, then to Harry's, and finally to Ron's. She shrugged. "Pureblood. Half-blood. Muggle-born. Gryffindor, Slytherin. Wealth and poverty. What stupid, silly lines have divided us, the entire wizarding community."

Ron looked like he was going to throw up. "Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater."

"There's no such thing anymore," Hermione reminded him. "The ones who refused to renounce Voldemort are in prison. Most of them died. There are, surely, families left who hold grudges, who are discriminatory and bigoted. But Draco Malfoy is different now."

" _Finite Incantatem._ " Ginny Weasley jabbed her wand at Hermione, who scowled and barked,

"I'm not being compelled by any curse to say this, Ginny. Harry, Ron. You and I traversed Britain searching for the Horcruxes. We fought this evil together. Ginny and Ron, you lost family in the battle at Hogwarts. But we must honor those we lost. We must honor the fight we waged. What was it for?"

"It destroyed Voldemort," Harry snarled, and Hermione said through desperate tears,

"Yes, but what venom did Voldemort spit at his followers? He rewarded them for being hateful. He sowed division. He intended on instituting policies that would still be welcomed by too many. It is our duty, our obligation, as the so-called 'heroes' of this war, to find a way to unify the wizarding world again."

"Well, perhaps you don't know, because you  _are_  Muggle-born, 'Mione, but the wizarding world has never really been united," Ron said bitterly. Hermione felt her mouth drop open in surprise, but Ron continued, "For quite a long time, Hermione, there have been certain people who -"

"Oh, come off it, Ronald. I know history - Muggle and Magical alike - far better than you do," Hermione snarled. She took a shaking breath, reading hurt in Ron's eyes, and she gulped down some tea. "I am going to try and establish a movement."

"What, like Spew?" Ron asked bitterly, and Hermione grimaced.

"A movement," she said again, "to attempt large-scale, real, deep, meaningful reconciliation between those of us who fought against Voldemort, and those who either fought for him or supported his ideals. I think there are more Dracos out there. More people who realise the wickedness of the cause that -"

"Sore losers, then," Ron sniffed, but Harry pointed out,

"First there was Grindelwald. Then Voldemort. Someone else will rise up. Hermione's right that we need to come to a place where there isn't space for that of hatred. But, Hermione… Draco Malfoy. It's a big ask to say we should be friends with Draco Malfoy, of all people."

"No one's asking you to be his friend," Hermione assured Harry, who pinched his lips and adjusted his glasses again.

"Don't you remember," Ron began, looking as though he might cry, "the way I vomited up slugs for hours because my spell backfired? Because I wanted revenge on Malfoy for calling you a Mudblood, Hermione. I still want revenge on him. I don't plan on cosying up to him any time soon."

"I'm telling you, Ron; he's realised the error of his childhood. He knows he was wrong." Hermione glanced around the table again, and Ginny asked pointedly,

"What did you say to him? To Malfoy?"

Hermione gulped hard and stared at the ugly plastic surface of the table. "He lives in a house he bought with his own salary. He has a painting… a painting of a woman with a baby begging from -"

"I don't care about his art collection," Ginny whispered, her face going very stern. "What did you say, Hermione, to Draco Malfoy?"

Hermione hesitated just long enough for Ron and Harry to lock glances and look very alarmed. Finally, Hermione admitted,

"I forgave him. Wholly and completely. For every slur, for every act of haughtiness, for every time he was a bully or an outright villain. For being a Death Eater. I forgave him for all of it."

A weighty, almost suffocating silence fell, and then Ron's cracked voice demanded,

" _Why?_ "

Hermione met his pleading eyes, and she said with confidence she hadn't known she'd possessed,

"Because, Ron, it is the only way forward."

He scoffed and dragged his fingers through the red hair that desperately needed a trim. He shook his head, slowly at first and then more wildly.

"You're being stupid," he barked. "You're not a stupid witch, Hermione Granger, but you're being stupid now."

"Ronald." Hermione's chest felt like she'd been punched, and she looked frantically to Harry and Ginny.

"I agree with you that there needs to be a move to unify society," Harry said carefully, "but if that involves any kind of kindness toward Draco Malfoy, I want no part of it."

"Hermione, I think… perhaps you ought to go," Ginny said, rising from her chair. She looked at her brother, who was practically foaming with anger, and she said, "Ron, write to Hermione when you're ready to have a civil discussion over all this. It isn't worth a fight."

"Oh, yes, it is," Hermione insisted, staying where she sat. She reached for Ron's arm, and when he snatched it away and glared at her like a wounded animal, she informed him, "You're just as prejudiced, you know. Just in the other direction. Do you honestly believe that no one is capable of performing wicked deeds and then finding redemption? Do you really believe that?"

"I believe that Draco Malfoy is beyond saving," Ron nodded, "and I'm absolutely disgusted by the fact that you thought it was a good idea to  _forgive_  him. Ginny's right, Hermione. You should go."

* * *

Two days later, Hermione stood outside the door of the boys' flat again. She'd had to go to three different bookshops to track down the tome in her hand, but once she'd found it, she'd been determined to get it to Ron. She knocked firmly on the door, and after a moment, she heard Harry's voice call,

"Just getting out of the shower, Ron; can you get it?"

"Yeah!"

Hermione took a trembling breath as the door flew open. Ron's face immediately darkened, and his small neck bobbed as he gulped. He leaned against the doorjamb and said quietly,

"I'm not quite sure I'm ready to talk yet, 'Mione."

She shoved the book in her hands toward him, nearly pushing him back through the doorway. Ron frowned down at the book and read,

" _A Christmas Carol_  by Charles Dickens. Why am I not surprised that you've decided to punish me in this argument with a book?"

"It is absolutely imperative that you read this book in its entirety," Hermione said sharply. "It isn't very long, so you've excuse. If you've cared for me, as a friend or as anything more, please read this book. The whole thing. Promise?"

She watched Ron thumb through it, and she thought of the way Scrooge had cheated others and profited from their misfortune with delight. She thought of how he'd seen the grave misfortune of those who suffered under his yoke, the way he'd seen his own doom if he did not change. She thought of him becoming a new man, a better man. And then she thought of Draco Malfoy.

"Ronald, please promise me that you'll read this. Start today. Send me an owl when you've finished."

Ron shut the book and reluctantly nodded. He leaned forward and put a careful kiss to Hermione's lips, and he whispered,

"All right. I promise."

**Author's Note: In the next chapter, we'll see Hermione's Ministry interview. And did someone say something about lifts at the Ministry? Hmm… thanks as always for reading. Fifty points to your House if you review. ;)**


	4. Welfare

Hermione came staggering out of the Floo fireplace and stared around at the vast black expanse of the Ministry of Magic. Her heart raced a little at the memories she'd made in this place - battling here in her fifth year of school, sneaking in using Polyjuice Potion. Now she was here for a job interview.

She started to make her way across the large atrium, ignoring the stares and whispers.

" _That's Hermione Granger."_

" _The one who -"_

" _Yes, that one."_

This must have been what Harry's life had been like for years, she thought. It had been awkward enough going back to Hogwarts, once everyone learned where she and Ron and Harry had disappeared to. There had been interviews, autographs…

Now there was a job interview.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," said a passing wizard that Hermione did not recognise. She plastered on a grin and walked more briskly toward the bank of lifts, her briefcase clutched tightly in her hand.

"Hold the door, please!" she cried, for her interview began in ten minutes' time and she despised tardiness. She clamored for the open lift and then froze.

"Morning, Miss Granger," smirked Draco Malfoy. Hermione steadied herself and stepped into the lift. She sighed and noted,

"You knew exactly when my interview was."

"I assure you that I'm just on my way to the ninth level." Draco pressed the 9 on the wall and then hesitated. "Magical Creatures… Level Four, is it?"

"Yes." Hermione held her briefcase more tightly and watched Draco press the button. The lift shot back and then began rocketing vertically, and Draco flicked his eyes down to Hermione. She studied herself self-consciously for a moment. She'd come in a skirt suit of deep purple, with a silk-lined cape to match and a jaunty little hat upon her carefully tamed waves. She only hoped she looked professional. Draco certainly seemed impressed.

The lift jolted to a stop, and the overhead voice said crisply,

"Level Four."

Hermione flashed Draco a tiny smile as she stepped out of the lift. She turned round to face him, and he nodded.

"Best of luck, then," he said, and before Hermione could answer, the grate slammed shut and the lift was off again.

She stood staring at the empty bank for a while, then turned and walked briskly down the corridor marked  _Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures._  There was a semi-circular desk with a tall, thin witch behind it, who looked up and said,

"Miss Hermione Granger? How nice to meet you."

"Yes. Very pleased to meet you," Hermione nodded quickly. "I'm here for an interview… with Mr Anubis Tratt."

"Ah, yes. Mr Tratt is expecting you. If you'll just follow me this way, please…" The witch rose from her chair, and her heels clacked loudly on the marble floors as Hermione followed her past endless offices. Finally they reached a stout wooden door, which the reception which opened slowly. Then she said, "Mr Tratt, I've got Miss Granger here for her interview."

"Yes. Do send her in."

The door was held open, and Hermione nodded her thanks as she stepped into the wood-paneled office. She stood politely as Anubis Tratt heaved his rotund self from his seat to greet her. He gestured to the leather chair opposite his desk, and as Hermione sat, she opened her briefcase to pull out her C.V.

"Yes, yes, I know all about your accomplishments," Anubis Tratt said, though he did take the C.V. He folded his pudgy hands and smiled kindly. "I had a conversation with Albus Dumbledore about you… a few years back."

Hermione's stomach clenched. "You did, sir?"

"Why, yes. It seems that you started an organisation at Hogwarts to advocate for the welfare of the school's House-Elves."

Hermione grinned. "Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. Yes, sir. I was quite proud of it… it didn't quite take off as I'd hoped. I still aspire to improve the living conditions of House-Elves."

"Well, it would seem as though being the Assistant Head of the Beings Division would allow you such leeway," said Anubis Tratt, and for once, Hermione found herself speechless. Tratt pulled out a parchment and slid it across the desk to Hermione. "This is an offer letter detailing your working duties and compensation package. You'd be responsible for handling the wellbeing and fair treatment of Squibs and House-Elves. Do you accept the position."

Hermione's grin grew wider than ever, and she nodded quickly. "Welfare and fair treatment for Squibs and House-Elves. Oh, it's perfect, Mr Tratt. Thank you so much."

"Just sign here." He pulled a quill from and inkwell and passed it over. "You can begin work first thing Monday morning. You'll report to Apsara Singh; she's the head of the Beings Division. Be here at nine o'clock sharp."

"I'll be here earlier," Hermione promised, scribbling her name on the line at the bottom of the offer letter. She laughed a little and admitted, "I'm so looking forward to this work, Mr Tratt. And, you know, it's perfect. Working for the welfare of previously mistreated people and creatures, because… well, I hope to help propel the wizarding world forward in other similar regards."

Anubis Tratt's smile faltered just a little. "What other regards?"

Hermione hesitated, but bravely said, "I hope to be a catalyst for change when it comes to post-war reconciliation, sir."

"We do not tolerate apologists in this office, Miss Granger," Tratt said sharply. "It is the position of this department that anyone and everyone who sympathised in any capacity with… with…  _Voldemort_ and his minions should be duly punished."

Hermione felt her cheeks go hot. She knew better than to bring it up again, at least for right now. She just nodded and slid the offer letter back across the desk to Anubis Tratt.

"I'm very grateful for the position, sir. I promise to serve the Ministry faithfully, to work hard on behalf of Squibs and House-Elves."

"Thank you, Miss Granger. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Tratt didn't sound so sure about that, and Hermione's breath caught just a little as she stood. She had made a mistake in bringing up the idea of reconciliation. She'd never received an owl from Ron about him reading or not reading the Dickens she'd given him. She hadn't heard from Harry, or from Ginny, or from anyone else. All she'd received were closed doors, closed minds. Nobody wanted to make friends with their former enemies. Even Harry, who seemed at least partially open to the idea of widespread peacemaking, was hardened at the notion of speaking amicably with…

With Draco Malfoy.

Hermione nodded and thanked Anubis Tratt again, and then she showed herself out of the office. She went to the bank of lifts and got inside. As the grate shut, she was about to press the button for the atrium, but then she found herself pressing 9.

The lift shot back and down, and Hermione held her breath when the door opened and the voice overhead said gravely,

" _Level Nine. Department of Mysteries._ "

She stepped out into the shiny black corridor, illuminated by blue-white light, and she strode slowly toward the door at the end. She knew what lay in this place. She knew far better than most people. She stood in front of the door, knowing that if she tried to enter, she'd become disoriented as an authorised entry.

She shut her eyes and said rather loudly,

"I am here to see Draco Malfoy."

There was nothing. Just silence. Hermione stared at the enchanted, eerie flames from the torches on the walls. Finally the door before her slid open, the slow scrape of stone on stone making her cringe a little. A very short, very thin, very pale witch appeared, and she snapped in an ethereal sort of voice,

"Who are you, and what do you want here?"

"My name is Hermione Granger. I… I wonder if Draco Malfoy is available."

The little witch, her wispy hair blowing about her paper-thin face, narrowed her eyes. "I can neither confirm nor deny whether any such wizard works in this department. You should go back to where you came from."

Hermione pinched her lips. "I know all about this place. I was here when the Prophecies fell and shattered. I took a curse from Antonin Dolohov here, one that almost killed me. I was here the day Sirius Black fell through the Veil, the day Luna Lovegood cast a Reductor Curse in the Space Chamber. I've worked with a Time Turner. I probably know more about this place than nearly anyone else alive. Please. If he'd here, tell Draco Malfoy I would like to see him."

The little witch stared for a very, very long time at Hermione. It seemed to go on forever, until finally the wizened woman said sharply,

"Come with me."

Hermione blinked, surprised by the invitation. She quickly followed the witch through the doorway into the round Entrance Chamber. The door behind Hermione shut, and then the walls began to rotate. Hermione's breath quickened in her nostrils. Finally, the spinning stopped, and another door opened. The little witch turned out to move very quickly indeed, her sprightly steps down the dark corridor before them almost impossible to follow. Hermione trotted to keep up. They came to an unmarked doorway, and the little witch put her palm to it. It slid open, and the witch walked away from Hermione without another word. Hermione stared after her, confused, watching her go back into the round Entrance Chamber.

"Hermione?"

"Draco." She turned at the sound of his voice, and he beckoned her into a small, minimalist office with brushed silver and black design. He stayed standing as his office door shut, and Hermione set down her briefcase, looking around in confusion.

"What office is this?"

"It's mine," Draco said simply. He crossed his arms over his chest, and his pale eyes were sharp as he demanded, "Why are you here?"

Hermione didn't have a good answer for that. She blinked, glancing down to her briefcase, and she said blandly,

"I got the job. In charge of Squib and House-Elf welfare. I… I have no idea why I felt compelled to come and tell you. Perhaps because Ron and Harry and Ginny are very cross with me just now, and because my parents wouldn't understand quite what the job meant. For some reason, it occurred to me that you might… that I should tell you."

Draco sucked in a very long breath and glanced at a doorway set into the slick black tile wall of his office. It was so narrow that it looked like you'd have to squeeze through it.

"Do you know what's on the other side of that door?" he asked, and when Hermione shook her head, he said, "The Death Chamber."

Hermione felt her lips go cold. All of a sudden, she was reliving it all. Harry and Luna being drawn to the arch by the whisperings from the other side. Bellatrix casting a curse at her cousin, sending Sirius Black fading into the abyss, through the Veil…

"You fought my father here," Draco noted matter-of-factly. "You. Potter. Weasley… more than one Weasley. You fought my Aunt Bellatrix, who killed Potter's beloved godfather, and you fought my father. That much I know to be true. You fought him, too. The Dark Lord."

"Voldemort," Hermione whispered. She raised her eyes and shrugged. "The wicked man is dead. Why fear his name now? Say it, Draco."

He was quiet for a long moment. Finally he sniffed and adjusted the sleeve of his black robe, and he said quietly, "You fought Voldemort."

"That bit came later," Hermione said. Draco looked ashamed all of a sudden, and he noted,

"Dolohov cursed you. Something awful. The records showed… you nearly died of it. You nearly died in this department. But you healed, and you kept fighting. For years, you kept fighting. Why?"

"What choice did I have?" Hermione asked sincerely. "I was fighting for my very existence. For the light. For good. I had absolutely no choice. You had choices. You made some very bad ones, but I've forgiven you, and I'm afraid I may have lost my friends over that."

Draco scoffed. "They're that angry, are they? That cross with you for having the sheer gall to forgive a wizard who regrets his past?"

"Believe or not, Harry's the one who seems at least vaguely amenable to the idea of widespread reconciliation," Hermione said. Draco shook his head.

"That doesn't surprise me. Very Potter-like, wanting to save society yet again. But I'll wager he wants nothing to do with me."

"No, he doesn't," Hermione admitted. She let out a long breath and blinked a few times. "I gave Ron a book… a Muggle book. It's about a man who does wicked, terrible things to people. He's forced to confront his past, his present, and his future, and he changes for the better. He leads a good life. I gave Ron the book and asked him to read it, to send me an owl when he'd finished. But I haven't received any owl."

"Perhaps Weasley's a particularly a slow reader," Draco suggested, quirking up half his mouth. Hermione shook her head.

"No. I'm sure he set the book down and didn't pick it back up again. He knows I've forgiven you, and for that… I don't suppose he'll forgive me. Not easily, anyway. And Ginny. Well, Ginny can be very stubborn."

"No. A stubborn Gryffindor?" Draco threw up an eyebrow, and Hermione gave him a dirty look. Draco dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and asked,

"Have you ever had jerk chicken?"

Hermione smiled just a little and said, "Only in the Muggle world."

"There's a Jamaican restaurant very near my house in Kensington." Draco sounded exceedingly nervous all of a sudden. "They'll deliver it straight to your door. Takes an hour; it's very inefficient, but… I wonder, Granger, if you might like to come by for some… for some…"

"Some jerk chicken?" Hermione finished for him. In the blue-white light of the room, Draco's cheeks coloured, and he stared again at the door that apparently led to the Death Chamber.

"I was an only child, so my parents rather showered attention upon me," he said, "and I always had a great many friends. But my friends are gone, and my family's gone, and I work… here."

He held his arms out as if to showcase the silent, eerie office space. Hermione remembered how empty and quiet his home had seen, and she realised at once that he must be profoundly lonely. Then she thought that it was very odd indeed for her to care, for her to feel a little twinge of pity at Draco Malfoy's loneliness.

"When?" she asked, and he looked shocked for a moment before he stammered,

"T-Tonight? Seven?"

"All right." Hermione nodded and considered that she ought to send Ron an owl, telling him their casual dating relationship was on hold for the time being. Even if it was just for jerk chicken, it would hardly do for her to go alone to Draco Malfoy's house whilst Ron stewed about her in the flat he shared with Harry. Hermione nodded again and told Draco, "Tonight. Seven. Your place in Kensington. Jerk chicken."

Draco smiled just a little and sounded embarrassed as he said, "As jealous as I ever was of you, Granger, I think I really underestimated you. You'll need an authorised escort out of here. I'll take you. Congratulations on getting the job."

**Author's Note: Ooooh, so Draco works with the Death Chamber somehow. Will this be significant? (Yes, it will.) Also, jerk chicken alone at Draco's house? Hmmm… this slow burn may be starting to catch a spark. Thanks for reading. Please do review if you can since this will be my last update before tomorrow. Much love to all.**


	5. Jerk Chicken

"Your house smells… spicy." Hermione laughed just a little as she walked over the threshold into Draco's elegant row house. He smirked and said,

"Food just got delivered twenty minutes ago. I've got a spell going to keep it warm."

"Oh. Here. I thought… thought it would be rude to come with nothing, so…" Hermione passed over a cardboard holder containing six brown bottles of beer.

"Red… Stripe," Draco read, and Hermione grinned.

"It's Muggle beer, but it's good. It's Jamaican. I promise that's what you're meant to drink with jerk chicken."

"Well, I believe you." Draco shut the door behind her and said rather awkwardly, "Dining room's through here."

Hermione followed him past the too-clean stairs, the ones with carpet running over the wood that looked like no one had ever walked on it. The wood and tile on the floor gleamed; the walls were free of a single fingerprint. The paintings on the wall were telling - still life of fruit and wine, a deserted-looking manor house on a moor, the bored-looking portrait of a lovely young woman.

"Are you very lonely?" Hermione asked impulsively as they stepped into the dining room. For a moment, Draco ignored her question, setting out white bone china plates opposite one another and carefully arranging the cutlery. Hermione opened her mouth to apologise, but Draco said sharply,

"Doesn't matter if I'm lonely, does it? My family hates me because I'm a traitor to them and everything they've ever stood for. People like Potter and Weasley hate me because… well, they may have a decent reason to, if I'm honest. Why do you suppose it is I requested a position in the bowels of the Ministry, in a tiny little office on my own? Hm?"

He finally looked up, and Hermione blinked, feeling a little ashamed all of a sudden. She set the beer down on the table and aimed her wand at the six-pack.

" _Defrigendo_." They'd be properly chilled now, she knew. She pulled her own chair out, knowing that Draco Malfoy would know better than to pull it out for her. She stared at the boxes of delivered food and said simply, "I'm famished."

There was silence as they each spooned spiced chicken, rice, plantains, and carrots onto their plates. Hermione used her wand to crack the lid off the bottle of her beer, and Draco did the same. Before they drank, she held up the brown glass bottle and said meaningfully,

"To people unwilling to accept that others are unequivocally evil, and those determined to look past others' faults and past deeds, optimistic about the future."

Draco laughed a little and shook his head.

"What?" Hermione snapped.

"That's… a really terrible toast, Granger," he said with his characteristic smirk. Hermione felt her cheeks go warm, and she tipped up her chin.

"If you can do better, then do it."

Draco thought for a moment, studying the condensation on the bottle in his hand. Finally, he murmured,

"To second chances. To third chances. And, far more importantly, to eight hundred and sixty-seventh chances."

Hermione's eyes were scorching hot all of a sudden, but she found enough voice to say,

"To eight hundred and sixty-seventh chances."

She sipped her beer then, and when she set about eating the hot chicken, the plantains, the rice, and the carrots, she said,

"Mmm. This is good."

"I've discovered that not all Muggle food is rubbish," Draco said simply. "When I was very young, my father told me that all Muggles ate was gruel, because they didn't have the ability to prepare anything else."

Hermione snorted a laugh, and when Draco looked indignant, she steadied her face and informed him,

"My mother bakes macarons better than the finest pastry chefs in France. My father makes a Sunday roast that starts your mouth watering on Wednesday. Muggles eat real food. Can you imagine my shock and… well, my disgust… the first time I tasted pumpkin juice?"

"What's wrong with pumpkin juice?" Draco demanded, and Hermione shrugged.

"There are better juices. I was on holiday once and had a mix of guava, orange, and pineapple juice. Now  _that_  was good."

Draco stared at his plate, pushing his chicken with his fork, and he finally admitted, "That sounds… I'll have to try that sometime."

"House-Elves really are spectacular cooks, though," Hermione said, chewing and swallowing a bite of plantain. "I still really have no idea how they do it."

"Why do you want to free them if most of them don't want to be freed?" Draco asked suddenly, and Hermione's mouth fell open. Draco set down his fork and folded his arms. "When Potter gave my family's elf -"

"Dobby," Hermione interjected, her stomach hurting at the memory of Bellatrix hurtling a dagger straight at Dobby's chest. Draco sighed.

"Dobby. When Potter gave Dobby that sock, he was the happiest little creature who ever lived. But many House-Elves are happy to serve witches and wizards."

Hermione pinched her lips and said tightly, "I admit that the initial goals of S.P.E.W., which were total liberation of all House-Elves, were misguided in that I did not listen to the voices of the Elves themselves. Many, as you say, did not want to be taken from their work. But I still believe strongly that there must be better regulation for their welfare. In my new position at the Ministry, I intend on helping to get new laws passed that strictly govern the treatment of House-Elves by wizarding families and establishments. Your father used to kick Dobby, to whack him with his walking stick."

Draco went red-faced, and he said softly, "When I was six, I told Dobby to jump off the roof of Malfoy Manor. He did it. He broke both legs. I laughed."

Hermione's eyes welled and she pushed her plate away a bit. "Why would you tell me that?"

"I was mimicking my father," Draco considered. "Trying to be even more than he was. It was wrong. I don't blame Dobby for his elation when he got that sock from Potter."

He drank very deeply from his beer then, shutting his eyes for a moment. Hermione cleared her throat, shoved some more chicken and rice into her mouth, and drank from her own bottle of beer. Finally she said,

"If Dobby were here, he'd forgive you, too. I know that to be true, whether Harry or Ron think so."

"And what does Ron Weasley think about the fact that you're here tonight?" Draco sipped from his beer again, finishing it off and reaching for a second one. Hermione didn't answer. She just took the last few bites of her food, feeling quite full indeed. Draco scoffed a little and said, "He doesn't know you're here. If he knew you were here, he'd break things off with you, because Weasley is a great many things, but a thoughtful listener is not one of them."

"I haven't spoken to him. I sent him an owl," Hermione said, unsure of why she was revealing all of this to Draco Malfoy. "I told him that I got the new position, that I'd be delighted to see him and talk with him when he's ready to discuss my plans for Squib and Elfish welfare as well as my hopes for reconciliation in the wizarding community."

Draco looked very serious then, dragging his thumb up and down the Red Stripe label. It made Hermione shiver for some reason, watching his thumb move like that. She flicked her eyes up to his, and he asked softly,

"And do you suppose you'll be hearing back from him any time soon?"

Hermione sipped her beer and said, "I think it might not be the worst thing for me to just… take a bit of a break."

"From Potter and Weasley." Draco's eyebrows flew up. "I certainly haven't meant to wedge between the Golden Trio."

"N-No, it's… there's been tension for some time," Hermione said quickly. "Harry's open to the idea, to the dream of a unified community to protect ourselves against the next Dark Wizard. Ron and Ginny… they don't want to hear it. They think that anyone who's ever dabbled -  _ever_  - in the Dark Arts should be punished and ostracised forever."

"Well, in the spirit of reconciliation," Draco said, "I wrote some letters of my own today. Katie Bell. She won't accept the apology, but I sent one anyway. My Aunt Andromeda. I've never met her, so I don't know what she'd think. I told her I was sorry we'd never met, that she'd been cast out for marrying who she did. I told her I was sorry that her daughter died, that Remus Lupin died, that her grandson will grow up without his parents because of a stupid battle over… nothing. I sent a few others, too."

"You sent those letters?" Hermione felt profoundly emotional all of a sudden, thinking of Tonks and Lupin lying dead together, of Katie Bell's near death, of… of…

"Molly Weasley," she said suddenly, nodding. "Arthur and Molly Weasley. They won't forgive you, either, but I think you should write to them."

Draco looked almost offended. He shook his head and insisted, "That entire family still hates me far more than I ever hated them."

"No. Molly and Arthur… they may not forgive you. They'll never want to see your face again, but they deserve a letter. Tell them you know nothing can ever bring their son back. Tell them you know your family treated theirs like rubbish for ages. And tell them you want to be a better wizard than the Malfoys before you. Just… please. Please write to them. Will you?"

Draco was quiet for an exceptionally long time. He Scoured the remnants of food off his plate, and Hermione did the same. Draco Banished the dishes to his kitchen, and then he finally said,

"Fine. I'll write to them, even though I know it won't do any good."

"Thank you." Hermione smiled at him then, genuinely smiled, and she informed him, "You continue to surprise me, Draco Malfoy, and I find I rather like it."

He curled up half his mouth, looking entirely too handsome, and he suggested,

"Let's change the subject, shall we? When do you start your new position?"

"Tomorrow morning," Hermione said happily. She glanced down and admitted, "I'll have to go to Madam Malkin's and get some new work robes."

"Go to Twillfit and Tatting's," Draco said immediately. "They do a much better job of…"

He trailed off then, realising he was sounding haughty again, and he sipped deeply from his beer once more.

"You'll be working with Squibs and Elves, then."

"Well, I don't really know exactly what I'm meant to do. Advocate for their welfare, I think," Hermione said. Draco look sceptical, and she snapped, "What?"

"As far as I know, that position is more concerned with registration and control, not welfare advocacy."

"Well, I'll just have to change that," Hermione said sharply. When Draco just nodded, she demanded, "And what is it that  _you_  do, since you're so fond of knowing everyone else's job descriptions?"

Draco hesitated, dragging his thumb over the Red Stripe label again in the same way that had set Hermione shivering before.

"I'm not… not really meant to discuss my work," Draco said, which left Hermione more curious than ever.

"I could just Confound you into telling me," she teased, and Draco laughed a little and shook his head.

"Yeah. You could certainly try. It's the Department of  _Mysteries_  for a reason, Hermione."

 _Hermione_. He mostly still called her 'Granger.' It was odd to hear her name come from between his lips. She drummed her fingers on his stout, dark dining table and insisted,

"You said you work with the Death Chamber. I saw Sirius Black fall through, pushed by Bellatrix Lestrange. I saw… please, tell me what sort of work happens in that room."

Draco blinked very slowly, and his voice was steady and soft as he leaned forward a little bit.

"I listen to the whispers."

Hermione's veins went cold. She shook her head a little. "You listen… to the whispers."

"Only some people can hear them. I hear them very clearly. I listen to the whispers of the dead, trying desperately to reach their loved ones, and I record those whispers. And that is what I do for a living." Draco sat up straight and drank the last of his second beer. Hermione's mouth fell open, and she finally asked,

"Do you pass along the… what the people are trying to say?"

"No. It's just snippets, just little hints of things. We keep the records stored securely in the department," Draco said sharply. Hermione threw up an eyebrow and asked,

"How did that work out for the Prophecies and the Time-Turners?"

Draco didn't smile. He cleared his throat and stared at the brown glass of his empty bottle of Red Stripe.

"One time I thought I heard him.  _Him_. The Dark… Voldemort. I thought I heard him, because someone said my name.  _Draco, you can finish what we started._  I thought it was him, talking to me from the other side. But the voice was off; the tone was off."

"I don't suppose that if there is an afterlife, Voldemort gets to be there, anyway," Hermione said, feeling quite bitter. "Who do you think it was?"

"My Aunt Bellatrix, probably," Draco shrugged. "It doesn't matter. Most of the time the whispers are irrelevant, at least to me.  _Susan, please try harder with your schooling… I still love you, Aengus._ "

Hermione's face twisted with horror, and she demanded,

"How on Earth do you cope with that? With… with listening to the dead all day? Working alone in that awful chamber, going to that dank little office, coming home to this empty house? Don't you ever feel lonely? Don't you ever get… depressed?"

Draco shrugged, too vigorously, and his pale blue eyes shimmered as though he were on the verge of crying. His voice was thick and tight as he said almost frantically,

"Does it matter? I'm just one of the ones who lost the war? I've got no family. I've got no friends. So what does it matter if most of the words I hear come from dead people? What does it matter if I work and live alone? What matters about any of it?"

He went to drink from his beer again, but it was empty, so he slammed the glass bottle back down onto the table, startling Hermione.

"I'll be your friend," she said very softly, and Draco rolled his eyes. He sneered a little as he said,

"Come off it, Granger; you've despised me from the moment we step foot into Hogwarts."

"And you despised me right back, probably even more so," Hermione noted. "Things are different now, aren't they, Draco? You've eschewed the family that's still hateful. You've given up the old ways of harming others. You're earning your own way. You're… living. You're doing your best to just live. And I have forgiven you, and I will be your friend."

"I don't need your pity," Draco spat, but Hermione reached impulsively across the table and wrenched his fingers from around the brown glass bottle. He looked completely shocked by the way she'd snared her fingers through his, and his breath hitched a little. Hermione wondered distantly when the last time any human being had shown Draco Malfoy a modicum of affection. She shook her head and said,

"It isn't pity, and this isn't for the cause of widespread reconciliation. You're an intelligent wizard, Draco, and I think perhaps if you and I tried hard enough, we might be able to find some of the same things funny and interesting and worthwhile. I'd like to… to be your friend."

"You've gone mad," Draco said crisply, pulling his hand from hers. "Entirely too much spice in that Muggle chicken; it's driven you mad."

Hermione giggled despite herself, and Draco seemed unable to keep himself from smiling just a little bit. He shook his head slowly and insisted,

"I had friends, once upon a time."

"No, you had lackeys," Hermione corrected him, "and I am not a lackey. I don't think you've ever actually had a real friend. Have you?"

Draco seemed to think for a very long moment. "No. Probably not."

"Friendship is very important." Even as she said it, Hermione thought of how Ron and Harry and Ginny and had practically shoved her away for forgiving Draco, for wanting to reconcile with former enemies. Her heart sank a little. Then, struck with a fresh idea, she said enthusiastically, "You know who you ought to write to? And she'll forgive you, too! Luna. Luna Lovegood."

Draco threw up a brow. "Loony -"

"Luna," Hermione snapped. "Luna is braver than the most courageous Gryffindor. Kinder than the most compassionate Hufflepuff. And she's the most intelligent Ravenclaw I've ever met."

"Not much Slytherin in her, then?" Draco narrowed his eyes and smiled a bit, and Hermione laughed as she shook her head.

"She will not only forgive you, Draco, but she will  _listen_ , and she will tell others, and she… well, she's an exceptionally good friend."

"I told you, I'm not in the market for friends," Draco said again, but Hermione shrugged.

"And, yet, here I am. Sitting across from you.  _When pigs fly_ , Muggles might say about the idea of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger being friends. But to that I would simply reply that making a pig fly is as simple as using a first-year incantation."

Draco rolled his eyes again and tapped the brown glass bottle.

"Thanks for bringing beer, even if it was terrible beer."

Hermione snorted a laugh and stared at her Red Stripe. "It isn't very good, is it? But it paired beautifully with the jerk chicken."

"Like a deep fruity red with the most elegantly roasted lamb," Draco joked. Hermione grinned, despite every screaming instinct telling her that this boy - this grown wizard - was her enemy. Finally she said,

"Well, you can keep the rest of the beer, whether it's good or not. I should get going home. My parents… well, I've only just brought them back from Australia and restored their memories and… it's complicated. Anyway, I should go home."

"Right." Draco stared at her across the table, not rising from his chair. Hermione didn't move, either, until finally she said in a soft voice,

"I just don't want it to get too terribly late. They're still jumpy."

"Understood." Draco's pale eyes flicked around Hermione's hair, over her arms and back up to her face. His throat bobbed, and he said, "Good luck tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," Hermione repeated, shaking her head in confusion. Draco cocked up one blond brow and said slowly,

"First day in the new position."

"Oh. Yes. Of course." Hermione was dizzy for some reason. She finally flew to her feet, and Draco rose with her. The two of them walked out to the front door, and Hermione paused. She stared up at Draco, at his perfectly knotted tie and his sharp face and his bright eyes, and she said sincerely,

"I'm glad we're friends now."

"I never agreed to being friends with you," Draco said, the corners of his lips tugging up a bit. "I agreed to chicken, and you added beer. That entire spiel on friendship was very one-sided, and I never agreed."

"You will, though," Hermione teased him. Draco huffed a little breath and tipped his head.

"We'll see. Thanks for coming."

"Bye." Hermione put her hand on the doorknob, ready to fling it open and leave, but Draco's hand covered hers. She turned back, and he looked all of a sudden as though he'd be sick right there on his expensive hall carpet.

"Will you come back?" he asked, his voice cracking a little. Hermione broke a bit inside for him then, realising that he'd given up absolutely everything. He'd given up his wickedness. He'd given up his family, the closest people he'd had to friends. He'd lost loved ones in the war just like Harry and Hermione and Ron. He'd come to know the flaws in the worldview he'd been fed. He was different now, and he was very alone. Would she come back?  
"For more jerk chicken?" she asked in a whisper, "or might we diversify the cuisine?"

Draco's eyes scanned around quickly, and he finally asked, "What are your feelings on… pizza?"

Hermione guffawed a little, and Draco scowled. Hermione steadied her face, wiping her smile away, and she said gravely,

"I adore pizza."

"All right. Pizza, then. Tomorrow night…? So you can…" Draco trailed off, and Hermione reached up on instinct to cup his sharp jaw in her hand. She nodded.

"Yes, seven o'clock tomorrow night to discuss my first day in my new position sounds absolutely marvelous. I like mushroom and onion on my pizza. Goodnight, Draco."

She hesitated in pulling her hand from him, and as she opened the door, her palm buzzed a little from touching him. She stepped over the threshold, and just before she Disapparated, she heard Draco said quietly,

"Night."

**Author's Note: So Draco works listening to the whispers of the dead all day. That has to come into play later, no? Hm. And... pizza? Touching? What's next? ;) Thank you for reading. I am very, very, very grateful for any and all feedback, especially given that I update quickly. Thank you!**


	6. Mushrooms and Onions

Hermione stared at herself in the mirror. Why she had dressed up to go to Draco Malfoy's house, she didn't really know. She'd put on a metallic gold pleated skirt and a tight black top with short sleeves. She'd put on black pumps - and she  _never_  wore heels - and had brought her hair up into an elegant chignon. She'd dared to put on red lipstick, to dab on a little perfume, and she blinked as she stared into the mirror.

She really, genuinely should not dress up for Draco Malfoy, she thought.

She picked up the letter that had been waiting for her when she'd gotten home from work. Her mother had said that an owl had come, but the letter was still sealed. Hermione finally garnered the courage to break the seal and peel open the letter, and at once she recognised Ron's scribbly handwriting.

_Hermione,_

_I'm happy to hear you got the job you wanted. Really, I'm happy for you. Harry says we ought to at least hear you out about reconciling with former Death Eaters. Well, I'll be honest with you. I told Harry to stuff it. Ginny's cross with him over it, too. We don't think there's any worth in making nice with the likes of Draco Malfoy._

_I wish you were lying about all this, Hermione. I wish you had turned right around when you saw it was him in that private space of the Leaky Cauldron. But to know that you went to his house, that you forgave him… after everything. After everything he's done._

_I can't be with you on this, Hermione. I'll always love you. I'll always be your best friend. And I look forward to talking to you again when you come to your senses about Draco Malfoy._

_Ron_

Hermione scowled deeply and reached for her wand. She set the letter down on her table and whispered, " _Evanesco,_ " and the letter Vanished into nonbeing. Hermione shut her eyes and whispered,

"Ronald, you bloody stubborn fool."

Then she Disapparated, coming to outside Draco's house in Kensington. She walked up to the door and knocked, immediately realising she'd come without a gift. She rushed to Conjure a bouquet of daisies and lavender and other simple flowers, which she clutched in her hand. When the door opened and Draco stood there, Hermione thrust the flowers out and said breathlessly,

"Hello. Thanks for having me."

Draco hesitated and then took the flowers, staring at them confusedly. Hermione huffed as she stepped inside with him, and she said,

"I forgot to bring drinks this time. Sorry."

"Erm… that's… fine." Draco stepped into his kitchen and filled a crystal vase from the tap, putting the flowers into the vase and laying them on the counter. He came back into the foyer and said,

"I ordered the pizza, but it won't be here for another half hour."

"Oh. That's all right." Hermione noticed the way he was staring her up and down, the way his blue eyes flashed at her high heels and her bare legs, at her short golden skirt and her tight black top. His eyes settled on her face, and his cheekbones went very pink. Hermione shifted where she stood and shrugged. "Fun to play dress-up every now and then."

"Yes. Pizza is a particularly special occasion," Draco agreed, and then they both broke into a little bit of laughter. Draco led Hermione into the sitting room, the grey room where she'd first forgiven him. She sat down opposite him just like she'd done then, carefully crossing her legs as she realised just how short her skirt was. She yanked on it a little as Draco asked,

"How was your first day?"

Hermione pinched her lips. "It wasn't what I expected. You were right, quite frustratingly."

Draco's eyebrows went up. "Not as much advocacy as you'd hoped?"

Hermione shook her head. "No… today I spent five hours making files for House-Elves newly acquired by wizarding families. Registering the House-Elf in the Ministry's system - age, gender, name, et cetera - and then sending off a letter to the family reminding them to be polite and humane to their… servant."

Draco gave her a knowing little nod. "And the Squibs?"

Hermione sighed deeply. "I didn't know there was a formal Squib registry. I definitely did not know that they were prohibited from employment in the Ministry."

Draco dragged his teeth over his bottom lip and said, "I've had members of my family blown out of our genealogy for being Squibs. I'm afraid you'd have to found quite an organisation to do anything real for them. Squib People Also Need Kindness?"

Hermione smirked as she put the anagram together. " _SPANK_."

Draco shrugged. "Why not? I'm sure you'd do marvelous things."

"You're still a right git, you know that?" Hermione laughed and then turned her face to the painting on the wall, the one of the woman begging. She rose and walked toward it. It moved, though it did not seem as sentient as most Magical paintings. Older magic, perhaps. Less advanced. She stood before the painting and studied it, the way the woman reached out with a claw-like hand at the hem of the snarling rich man.

"Where did you get this?" Hermione asked, and suddenly Draco was beside her.

"Archibald's Art, in Hogsmeade," he said matter-of-factly. "I'm told it belonged to a wizard who bought up Muggle art and enchanted it to be animated."

"Oh." Hermione nodded. That explained the simplistic, repetitive movement that was more like a photograph than a portrait. She watched as the painted baby sobbed with hunger, as the rich man moved away up a stone step. She turned her face to Draco and asked him, "Do you keep it in this room to remind you?"

His throat bobbed and he shrugged. "I keep it… It feels necessary, that's all."

Hermione nodded. She was very close to him, she thought. Closer than she'd been to Draco Malfoy since she'd punched him in the face their third year. Suddenly she told him,

"I could have walked away from you, but I struck you instead."

He gave her a crooked little smile and said in a mocking sort of voice, "I forgive you."

"I don't know how sorry I am," Hermione admitted. "You got Buckbeak killed."

"Well, you saved him again," Draco said tightly. "There were loads of times where I did something stupid and you cleaned up the mess."

"Not just me," Hermione reminded him. "Harry and Ron, too."

"Well, Weasley and Potter don't seem anxious to come to my house for pizza dressed looking like a metallic fever dream," Draco said, his fists tightening at his sides. Hermione snorted and tipped her head.

"A metallic fever dream."

"What else would you call that skirt?" Draco barked, and Hermione glanced down.

"I'd call it a skirt, probably."

They just stared at one another then, for what felt like an interminable moment. She could still see irritation in his eyes, the sort of contempt that he'd flashed at her for years. She could still read bitterness, a lingering impatient sort of haughtiness. But as the moments passed, his face softened a little. His bottom lip fell just a bit, and his blond eyelashes fluttered open and shut a few times, and he whispered at last,

"I didn't mean to insult you, Granger."

"Hermione," she corrected him. She took a half step closer, unsure of why that felt like the right thing to do. She raised a hand up, feeling compelled to hold his face the way she'd done the night before. His breath audibly quickened in his nostrils, and then suddenly the doorbell rang.

Draco staggered back a few steps and looked like he'd been jared awake from a deep sleep.

"Pizza's here," Hermione whispered, and Draco rifled in his pockets as he mumbled,

"Damn it; I forgot to trade out for more Muggle money at Gringotts… I can Confound him into just handing it over, or -"

"No. No, you won't do that." Hermione rolled her eyes and stormed over to the front door. She opened it and grinned at the pimple-faced teenaged Muggle who stood with a cardboard box in his hands.

"Hullo," he said. "It'll be twelve pounds even."

"Twelve pounds." Hermione pulled out a twenty pound note from the wallet she extracted from her handbag. She passed the money over to the delivery boy and said rather sharply, "Keep the difference."

The boy scowled; he probably never received gratuity at all, much less eight pounds' worth. But then a wide smile broke over his face, and he said cheerfully,

"Have a great day, Miss."

"You, too." Hermione took the pizza and brought it inside, kicking Draco's door shut with her heeled foot. She marched into the dining room and set the pizza down, opening the box and breathing in the smell of it. Draco came walking in with plates, and she scoffed.

"Pizza on china? Haven't you got paper plates or something?"

"I'm not a Muggle," he reminded her rather grimly. Hermione doled out a few slices of pizza onto the overdressed china plates, and she sat opposite Draco as they sipped water from crystal glasses. After two slices, she was more than full, so she Scoured her plate and reached in her handbag again.

"Would you like some chewing gum? Sorry; it's not Drooble's. It's the Muggle kind."

"All right." Draco reached across the table and accepted the little foil-wrapped stick. He put it into his mouth and started chewing, and Hermione was impressed when he used nonverbal magic to Vanish the wrapper. She stared at him as he Banished their plates to the kitchen, as he sent the half-empty box of pizza to the refrigerator. Then she sipped her water, letting it mingle with the flavour of mint in her mouth, and she realised she'd been attracted to him - to  _Draco Malfoy_  - in the sitting room.

She found herself rather attracted to him now, too, if she was honest. He actually cared about her work, even if he was snarky about it. He was alone, but he didn't want to be alone. She could tell. She rose from her chair, and Draco slowly stood as she walked around the dining room table to stand before him.

"What did you hear today?" she asked, "in the whispers?"

Draco took a long, trembling breath and said quietly, " _Tell them it was Cecilia. She did this to me. Cecilia did this to me._ "

Hermione blinked. "Who's Cecilia?"

"No idea," Draco shrugged. "And I've no idea who the voice was, either. But I recorded it anyway, and I filed it away. Someone named Cecilia committed murder. Apparently. I heard a little boy, too. He was very young."

"Draco." Hermione shut her eyes and shook her head, and Draco snapped,

"You asked." He paused then and finally mumbled, " _Tell Mummy and Daddy I'm safe. Someone please tell my Mummy that I'm not afraid._ "

"Draco," Hermione said again, pleading this time. She opened her eyes and stared up at him. She opened her mouth to tell him that he ought to get another job, that this one would kill him from the inside out. But before she could speak, he informed her,

"Apsara Singh, your boss. If you sit down and talk with her about S.P.E.W., I think you'll find she'd more open to letting you advocate for your beliefs than the job would have you think. You don't just have to file new House-Elf assignments and handle Squib registries. You're better than that, Granger."

"Hermione," she whispered, and Draco squared his jaw, nodding once.

"Hermione." He tipped his head a little, and he surprised her by reaching to hold her face in two hands with shaking fingers. She let him touch her. Him,  _him_ , Draco Malfoy. She let him hold her face, and she actually liked it. She soaked in the feel of his palms on her cheeks, his long fingertips grazing her hair. His pale eyes opened and shut a few times, and he finally said,

"I was very wrong about you. I was wrong about a lot of things."

"The past is gone," Hermione told him, and her hands moved of their own accord to press to his chest. She felt his breath quicken there, and she said, "The past is dead, like so many comrades on both sides. The present is tense, fraught with ongoing and unnecessary hatred. The future could be wonderful. It could be… it could be magnificent."

"And you mean to make the future magnificent, do you?" Draco asked. Hermione felt her eyes sear, and she asked him,

"Will you help me?"

"I…" Draco wanted to tell her that he wouldn't be on the cover of the  _Prophet_ as a repentant, defeated Pureblood boy. She knew that. So she just mumbled,

"Help me change one mind at a time, Draco. I've forgiven you. There are many others - on both sides, frankly - who must ask and receive forgiveness. Help me change one mind at a time."

"I'll think about it," Draco said, and she watched him swallow his chewing gum. His hands tightened on her cheeks a little, and he informed her, "You're much prettier than I ever thought. I always thought your intelligence and your morality made you ugly, but now I see it's very much the opposite."

"Well… thanks." Hermione laughed a little, but Draco's face stayed very steady.

"I kissed Pansy Parkinson in our sixth year," he blurted, "because she wouldn't shut up about wanting me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Yes; you had Slytherin girls falling all over you. And?"

"And I hated that kiss, because I didn't want Pansy," Draco said. His voice was shaking hard now, and Hermione's stomach lurched as the pieces finally clicked together in her mind. She watched Draco clench his teeth together, saw his jaw tighten, and his fingers shook like leaves on her face. Finally he informed her, "I would like… if you'd allow me to…"

"Yes," Hermione nodded, and without another word, Draco bent to press his lips to hers. It was the most fleeting kiss imaginable, just a brush of lips together, as if he thought he'd kill them both by doing it. There was a brief, rather horrifying image of Ron in Hermione's mind, but then her consciousness was overwhelmed by a feeling of  _want_. She wanted him. Draco Malfoy, of all people.

She reached up and pulled his face down again, encouraging him to let her kiss him harder. His lips shook against hers, and he growled softly,

"Granger…  _Hermione…_ "

She just kissed him, unwilling to wait any longer. She dragged her tongue along his bottom lip, having no idea whatsoever what was compelling her to do this. She dragged his lip between her teeth and then gently pushed her tongue inside, dragging a circle around the roof of his mouth. Draco's hands flew from her face to her waist then, his fingers trailing up her ribcage as he grunted a little into her mouth.

Hermione finally pulled away, flying backward a few steps as she informed Draco,

"You've got red lipstick all over you."

"Oh." He reached for his wand off the table, his hand trembling like mad as he nonverbally cleaned himself up. Hermione could hardly breathe; she could hardly think. She blinked a few times, thinking that she'd probably made the most terrible mistake in her life. Then she wanted to kiss him again -  _him_ , Draco Malfoy - and she knew she needed to leave. She walked quickly toward the front door, grabbing her handbag off the table, and she said,

"Thanks for the pizza, Draco."

"Hermione, wait." His voice was firm now, more like the Draco she'd once known. She turned from the door to see him slowly approaching, and he shook his head a little.

"I'm not sorry," he said quite confidently, and Hermione sighed as she admitted,

"Neither am I, but… I need to go."

"All right," he nodded. "Send a memo down to the ninth level if you ever… if you feel like Indian food or something."

"Right. Thanks again for… pizza and… listening to me talk about my new job and… and… I should go." Hermione opened the door and left without another word, Disapparating the moment she'd left Draco's beautiful, empty, lonely row house.

**Author's Note: Oh, dear. Imagine Ron's face if he realized Hermione had not only forgiven Draco, but had *kissed* him. How will Hermione assert herself in her new job? Can she sway Harry to her political cause? When will she next see Draco? All this and more in the next few chapters. :) Thanks for reading, and fifty points to your House for any reviews. :)**


	7. Apology and Atonement

Hermione stepped out of the Floo fireplace and nearly bumped straight into the boys.

"Ron!" she exclaimed. "Harry! What are you doing here?"

The two wizards eyed one another, and Harry reminded Hermione,

"We work here. Aurors in training."

"Oh. Right." Hermione shook her head as if to rid herself of an annoying insect. Harry's face softened a little, and he asked,

"How's work coming on advancing… Elfish welfare? Conditions for Squibs?"

She wanted to hug him for asking, and she wished she had a better answer. She just flashed him a hopeful little smile and said with feigned confidence,

"I'll get there. Hope you're both well."

"Y'Know, I think I'll head on up," Harry said knowingly. "Ron, I'll tell Madam Norwalk that you'll be a few minutes late."

"Right." Ron mumbled the word, and he and Hermione stepped away from the row of Floo entrances and into a secluded pocket of the great atrium. He jabbed his hands into the pockets of his robes and said, "Harry says I should hear you out. So, go on. Talk. I'm listening."

Hermione's mouth fell open in surprise. She had a speech ready for just this moment, but somehow now she'd forgotten it. She stammered,

"W-Well, it's just that, you see, people have the capacity to change. Sometimes, very often, in fact, we become as adults the product of our upbringing. Those who are raised to have compassion and humility most often grow into humble and compassionate adults. But look at your brother Percy. He's not like the rest of your family, is he? Not quite. And it's rather the same sort of -"

"Leave my family out of this," Ron snarled, but Hermione continued,

"Andromeda Black - the mother of Tonks - she's the sister of Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. She's their sister, by full blood. But she walked away. Do you hate her? Do you hate Andromeda for -"

"Tonks' mother didn't nearly get me killed," Ron said sharply. "She didn't spend years and years bullying, bandying about threats and foul terms the way Malfoy. Andromeda Tonks wasn't ordered by Voldemort to kill Albus Dumbledore."

"But Draco didn't do it," Hermione reminded him. "He couldn't, because despite whatever orders he received, he wasn't wicked enough to -"

"Come off it," Ron whispered, looking heartbroken. "We're all Draco Malfoy's victims… you probably most of all. And victims are not obligated to forgive their tormentors."

"No, they aren't obligated, but they are allowed," Hermione said firmly. "I have forgiven Draco Malfoy, because I can sense with every part of me the profound change within him. He's still Draco. He's still snarky and sarcastic. He has to fight against the prejudices that were injected into his very -"

"You can stand here for the next ten hours blathering on, and I'm still not ever going to feel sorry for Draco Malfoy," Ron snapped. He took a half step toward Hermione, looming over her, and he asked softly,

"Are you and I still… you know how deeply I…"

"Ron, I think we're at an impasse right now," Hermione said. "A philosophical impasse. You say that you want nothing to do with me until I renounce Draco Malfoy and call for his punishment. As for my part, I'm not sure how I'm meant to socialise regularly with someone who's this intransigent. How is the wizarding world meant to -"

"I don't care about the 'wizarding world,'" Ron said, far too loudly. Hermione looked around; he was making a scene. He'd also interrupted her four times, which she thought was very rude. He barrelled on, "I care about the fact that you forgave Draco Bloody Malfoy for things that just can't be forgiven, 'Mione. If Bellatrix Lestrange was alive today, would you forgive her? For killing Dobby, for killing Sirius, for trying to kill Ginny, for carving the M-word into your arm and using the Cruciatus Curse on you? Would you forgive her?"

"It's not remotely the same thing," Hermione argued, but Ron scoffed and insisted,

"It is exactly the same thing, and if you don't know that, you're not half so brilliant as you make people think."

Hermione pinched her lips, unwilling to cry in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic. She took a shaking breath and said lightly to Ron,

"It pains me to see you like this. Stubborn, unmoving in your unwillingness to help us all take steps forward instead of being weighed down by old enmities. To answer your earlier question, Ron… no, you and I are not dating. Not for now."

"Yeah, I think it's much better that way," Ron said bitterly. "I'm late for work. So are you. Bye."

He stormed off then, leaving Hermione standing alone with one hand pressed against the wall as she struggled not to show any emotion.

* * *

"And so, Madam Singh, you can see that my plan would simply put into place basic, common sense measures to protect those House-Elves who are placed with families."

Apsara Singh thumbed through Hermione's report and read aloud,

" _The use of corporal punishment such as beatings and ordered self-harm would be prohibited. Withholding food or water as punishment would also be prohibited._  Miss Granger, I really don't know how well certain people are going to take to this."

"Well… certain people need to learn that House-Elves' lives have value, too," Hermione said rather sharply. "They need to learn that it isn't only witches and wizards who deserve respect, dignity, and humane treatment."

Apsara Singh sighed heavily and passed the papers back to Hermione.

"Draught me something I can take to Mr Tratt. No promises. It's all a load of wondrous ideas, Hermione, but I don't know that it'll lead anywhere. In the meantime, there are four newly recognised Squibs who need to be registered. Here are their files."

Singh put the files down on Hermione's desk. Hermione felt so irritated that she said nothing at all as Singh left. Hermione opened a file and began reading.

_Harriet Crabbe, aged eleven. Member of Sacred Twenty-Eight Pureblood family. Recognised as Squib when all attempted wand matching failed. No account of accidental childhood magic. Inability to perform any spells, even with instruction and various wand types. Recently took up residency in the Borrows Home for Child Squibs when her family disowned her._

Hermione's heart sank. Suddenly her door flew open, and a little folded piece of paper came fluttering into her office. It landed on her desk and the door shut, and Hermione realised it was an interdepartmental memo. She cracked open the plain black seal on the back and read in very neat writing,

_D. Malfoy requests the immediate presence of H. Granger on Level Nine._

* * *

The entrance to the Department of Mysteries admitted Hermione so quickly and easily that she figured she must have been put on some list of authorised visitors. Inside the rotating entry chamber, she took a few trembling breaths and waited for the door to open. When it did, she stepped out into a narrow, slick black corridor and saw Draco Malfoy leaning against the wall. He stood up, and he just silently beckoned.

Hermione followed him into his little office, and once the stone door had scraped shut, she sat in the narrow, black wooden chair opposite his larger leather one.

"What's going on?" she asked without pretense. Draco slid something across the desk to her. It was a little unmarked cube of dark grey metal, and Hermione demanded, "What is it?"

"It's a Whisper Record," Draco said simply. "We don't usually record them with this level of detail, but this one seemed important. I missed the first few words."

"What's it about?" Hermione felt very afraid now, but Draco folded his hands on his black wooden desk and said quietly,

"Just pick it up and listen."

Hermione reached slowly for the little cube, no larger than a die, afraid that she would be cursed or killed for touching it. She wrapped her fingers around it at last and shut her eyes, and suddenly the quiet, distant voice of Albus Dumbledore filled the space between her ears.

' _... must tell her, tell Miss Granger… to stay the course. Walk this path. Apology and atonement. Guilt. Forgiveness. Sorrow and friendship. Recompense and redress. This is… the way forward. Hermione Granger… and Draco Malfoy… together you can save it all from the next… and the next… and the next. Walk this path. Stay this course. Apology and atonement. Recompense and redress..."_

The voice trailed off then, and new whispers took its place before the recording stopped. Hermione tossed the little cube down onto the desk and shoved her chair back a little.

"That's different than a portrait," she snapped. "Portraits are just facsimiles, just recreations of the person who was but no longer is. You're telling me that those words were spoken by Albus Dumbledore himself from the other side of the Veil?"

Draco blinked a few times and finally whispered, "Yes."

Hermione tried to catch her breath. "I wager you're not meant to play these recordings for people."

"No. I could be sacked if they knew I'd shown it to you." Draco reached for the cube and opened a little wooden box on his desk. He carefully arranged the cube in a line of other similar-looking ones, then shut the lid of the box. He sighed and told her, "It seemed very important that you hear it. I know you've been facing doubt from your friends. I haven't been… well, I've been sorry, but perhaps not exactly supportive. And though I despised Albus Dumbledore from the moment I knew how to do it, I think he's speaking wisdom here. I think you needed to hear that."

"Is this some sort of trick?" Hermione asked, her throat clogged with some sort of knot. Draco shook his head and declared,

"Half of my working day is spent wishing it were all some sort of trick. But, no. That was Albus Dumbledore, speaking directly to you."

"And to you," Hermione pointed out. Draco put his lips into a line and nodded once.

"And to me."

A very, very long silence passed then, and Hermione found herself reaching across Draco's desk. His own long, thin fingers met hers halfway, and then he began to stroke at her knuckles with his thumb. Hermione remembered the way his thumb had looked moving along the label of the Red Stripe beer, and she shivered a little. His fingers drifted across her palm as his thumb grazed her knuckles, and Hermione kept her eyes locked on their hands as she noted,

"You kissed me."

"Only sort of," Draco said rather snidely. "Once it got down to brass tacks, it was really you doing the kissing, Granger."

She couldn't help but smile just a little at that. She kept watching their hands, and finally she heard Draco whisper,

"Hermione."

She raised her eyes to him, and she watched his tongue go along his bottom lip carefully. Then he asked in a soft voice,

"Come here, will you?"

She rose, reluctantly pulling her hand from his. She let her fingers drag along the wood as she stepped around the table. She wasn't miniature; she was of just slightly below average height, but Draco was tall enough that, even sitting, her face was only a little above his when she approached. He parted his knees, and Hermione stepped between them, sliding her hands onto his face.

"No," he whispered, and Hermione was confused. He stood then, pulling her hands away from his face and keeping his fingers laced with hers. He shook his head and insisted, "This time I'd like to do the kissing."

"All right," Hermione nodded.

He did kiss her then. He kissed her so hard that she staggered backward, backing up until she hit the slick black wall. Draco pressed her body against the wall and massaged her lips with his, thrusting his tongue into her mouth and urging her to dance hers with his. They both sucked and nibbled at one another, and suddenly Hermione heard a legitimate moan vibrate from her mouth onto his.

Draco's hands held fast to Hermione's waist until she moaned, and then he trailed one hand up the silk blouse she wore beneath her outer robe. He cupped her small, round breast in his hand and squeezed a little, and Hermione gasped. She tipped her head back against the wall, and Draco stammered,

"S-Sorry. I'm sorry."

"No. Don't…" She reached for the hand he'd torn away, putting it back onto her chest and meeting his eyes. She rather boldly reached between them and let her knuckles drag over the front of his trousers, eliciting a hiss and a rickety sigh. She felt the burgeoning firmness there, and her heart sped up. Draco shook his head and insisted,

"This isn't the time or place. We'll both wind up sacked for this sort of thing."

"And you haven't got a father to bail you out anymore," Hermione said, knowing she was being cruel. Draco stared at her for a very long moment, his face devoid of any emotion. Finally he took a little step back and told her,

"You are bloody brilliant, Hermione Granger, and you're very pretty, and once you set your mind to something, you see it done. I admire you, and more than that, I want you. Come to Kensington tonight."

Hermione smirked a little, thinking back to how awfully she and Ron had fought in the atrium. She reached for Draco's hand, brushing the pad of her thumb over his fingernail, and she murmured,

"Ask me nicely."

He closed the gap between them and kissed her again, much more gently this time. His lips were careful, delicate even. His tongue stayed in his own mouth. His palm caressed her neck and then her cheek, and he whispered against her lips,

"Please, Miss Hermione Granger, will you come to my house tonight? I promise there will be loads and loads of wine."

She grinned broadly then, her smile faltering a little when she eyed the wooden box on the desk behind him and thought of Dumbledore's voice coming from beyond the veil. But she huffed a breath and nodded, and she said,

"Yes. Seven o'clock sounds wonderful. I like tikka masala. And loads and loads of wine. Thank you, Draco… for showing the record. I'll see you tonight."

He let her slip by him, and he seemed to struggle to speak before he finally said,

"Bye, Hermione."

**Author's Note: Oh, man. Dumbledore communicating from the other side? Who else will Draco hear? Harry seems pretty open to Hermione's dreams; will they stay close, or will he side with Ron in the end? Can Hermione and Ron ever *really* date again after this? And what the heck will happen with all that wine? We're definitely seeing the slow burn start to catch on fire now. ;) Thanks for reading and please do leave a review.**


	8. Rioja

"What… on Earth… is all of that?"

Hermione shut Draco's door behind her. He gestured proudly to the dining room table to the right and declared,

"It's wine."

"It's a dozen bottles of wine," Hermione said in horror, and Draco smirked.

"Yes. There are nice fruity reds, good dry Merlots, crisp whites and whites with apple flavour, and… why do you look like someone's been murdered on this table?"

Hermione laughed a little and picked up a bottle of Pinot Noir, shaking her head.

"We're both lucky it's Friday and neither of us has to work tomorrow."

"Are we?" Draco picked up his own bottle of wine, a Spanish Rioja, and he uncorked it using his wand. He did the same to Hermione's bottle and held his up. "Cheers."

She watched in fascinated shock as he tipped the bottle back and drank straight from it. She laughed a little and demanded,

"I was promised Tikka Masala."

"Oh. Yes. Well… I decided I didn't want Indian food," Draco said imperiously. He walked into his crisp, silver-toned kitchen, and Hermione followed. He held his hand out to a bowl on the counter, which appeared to be spaghetti bolognese, and he said proudly, "Made it myself."

"Why are you in such a good mood?" Hermione narrowed her eyes, opening a cupboard and taking out a wine glass. She poured herself a healthy helping of Pinot Noir and started to sip it as she pointed out, "You seemed dour earlier today. And how the blazes do you know how to cook spaghetti?"

Draco rolled his eyes and said, "I may have grown up with a House-Elf, but I had to take the same Charms exams you did. We all learnt to cook, at least a little, didn't we? Nothing too complicated about noodles and meat sauce."

Hermione shook her head and sipped deeply from her wine. "I'm afraid to eat it."

"I'll test it." Draco opened a drawer and took out a large spoon and a fork. He pulled a china bowl from a cupboard and spooned himself some spaghetti, and he twirled it round his fork before chewing, swallowing, and making a vaguely sexual sound.

"Mmph," he said. "That is the most delicious… oh, you have to try it."

"Why are you in such a good mood?" Hermione asked again as Draco spooned her some food. She finished off her glass of wine and poured herself another, watching as Draco chugged with gusto from his own bottle. He set the bottle down and turned away to let out a quiet little belch. Hermione studied his face as she twirled a few forkfuls of spaghetti and ate them. She leaned on the counter, sipped her Pinot Noir steadily, and waited for an answer. Finally Draco said,

"I realised who the voice was. The one that spoke to me before… saying that I could finish what we started."

Hermione scowled. "You thought it was Voldemort, or Bellatrix Lestrange."

"No, it was… it was Snape. Severus Snape." Draco chugged again from his wine and smiled just a little bit. He shook his head. "I never saw it coming. The fact that he had promised to save my soul from committing murder, the way he'd double-crossed the Dark Lord. I never saw any of it. I didn't see until he was already gone."

"None of us did," Hermione admitted, finishing off her second glass of Pinot Noir. She poured a third glass, took a few more bites of spaghetti, and asked, "How do you know it was him whispering?"

Draco smiled just a little and drank some more wine. "Even in whispers, certain voices are distinct, if you know what I mean. I listened to the recording five times. And then I heard a second whisper behind him, someone I didn't recognise. I listened five times, but I couldn't place the voice."

"What did the voice say?" Hermione asked, drinking far too quickly from her third glass of wine. Draco huffed and repeated,

" _We died for him, but you can live for the others._ "

"Regulus," Hermione breathed, and Draco scowled.

"Regulus Black? My… my cousin?"

"Yes." Hermione nodded quickly. "He gave his life because he found one of Voldemort's Horcruxes. He'd been a Death Eater. Severus Snape… he died because Voldemort thought he'd get the Elder Wand that way. Snape spent years as a Double Agent, acting for both the Order and the Death Eaters. And you…  _you_ , Draco…"

She was feeling the wine heavily now, and as she stood up straight, she wobbled a bit. She finished off her third glass of wine and poured another, and she pointed out,

"You're just like them. You've done terrible things, awful things, Draco, but you're sorry, aren't you? You're not wicked anymore, are you?"

"Well. I'm trying." Draco brought the bottle of wine to his lips and drank so deeply that Hermione thought he'd be sick. He set the wine bottle down on the counter, and it clanked in a way that told Hermione it was empty. Draco looked a little bleary-eyed as he ate some spaghetti, and he finally said in a soft voice,

"It gave me a little bit of hope, that's all. Hearing those whispers… Dumbledore's message. Never thought that man would make me happy, but…"

"You and I can change things," Hermione said, sounding too eager even to her own ears. She gulped at her glass of wine, feeling nauseated and ignoring it. She set down the empty fourth glass and took Draco by the shoulders, shaking him a little. Her voice was blurry now as she said, "Together, we can keep all this from happening again. We can change people's hearts on this, Draco."

"Ron Weasley? You think… you think he's amenable to holding hands and singing joyous songs of friendship?"

Hermione giggled then, rather uncontrollably, and she found herself collapsing against Draco's chest. For some reason, the thought of Ron and Draco holding hands and singing was the most hilarious thought she'd ever had. She felt her face being tipped up, felt Draco's lips press against hers, and he informed her in a slurred voice,

"You've never seen the upstairs bit of this house."

"Oh, I'll fall on the steps," Hermione laughed, shaking her head. The wine was hitting her hard now; she'd had far too much in far too little time. She stumbled over to the counter and shoveled some more spaghetti into her mouth, and then she grabbed the bottle of Pinot Noir and drank from it the way Draco had done. She heard him laugh, and when she set it down, she swiped the back of her wrist over her lips. She pointed an accusatory finger at him and said,

"You brought me here to get me drunk and get in my knickers."

"I didn't 'bring you here,' Draco said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You came all on your own."

"Yes, but I thought there would be Tikka Masala," Hermione argued, pointing to the half-empty bowl on the counter. "Instead I got mediocre spaghetti."

"Mediocre?" Draco snarled a laugh then and pushed her playfully against the damask wallpaper. "I'll show you mediocre."

"That's a terrible comeback," Hermione said with a grin, but Draco shut her up with a harsh kiss. His fingers worked frantically at the hem of her knee-length pencil skirt, dragging it up and sending a shiver down Hermione's spine as he touched the inside of her thigh. He tasted like wine, like spaghetti sauce. He was delicious. He was heavy against her, though he was a lean wizard, and Hermione found herself snarling her fingers into his perfectly combed hair. It needed to be mussed, she thought. She needed to see him messy.

"Draco," she whispered, when at last he pulled away for breath. He blinked a few times and sounded very drunk as he told her,

"I've never… this is rather embarrassing, but… I'm… a virgin."

"Oh. So am I," Hermione shrugged. "Ron and I never got round to it. Just loads of kissing and touching. He quite liked when I touched his cock, but he seemed utterly terrified of my own parts."

"I really don't want to hear about Weasley right now," Draco said matter-of-factly. Hermione just nodded and started to unbutton the black shirt he wore beneath his outer robe. Draco covered her fingers with his and shook his head a little.

"I thought… I thought… being drunk would help," he slurred. "Thought I'd bring myself to do it more easily that way."

Hermione tipped her head, which triggered a wave of dizzy nausea. "Do you need to bring yourself to do it?"

"No, I don't," he said, and his breath quickened a little. His hand was still up her skirt, his fingers caressing the inside of her thigh. He pushed against her, and she felt the insistent push of his erection on her abdomen. She gasped a little, and Draco mumbled, "Feels wrong like this. I want to… be able to… the details, you know?"

"Mmm-hmm," Hermione agreed, though all of a sudden her body was screaming at her to unbutton Draco's trousers. He leaned forward and pushed her hair away, touching his lips beneath her ear. She felt his wand drift down over her ribcage, felt it pull up at the hem of her skirt, and then he whispered into her ear,

" _Gaudens Maxima._ "

Hermione was overwhelmed then by a sudden climax, completely unforeseen and more powerful than any she'd ever experienced. She clutched at Draco's arms, staring straight into his bleary blue eyes as her body tightened and went hot. She was contracting, clenching, and his knuckles brushed along the soaked crotch of her knickers as it happened. Her cheeks and ears went hot, and all she could find the voice to say was,

"Draco. Draco…"

He kissed her, so carefully that she didn't recognise him for a moment.  _This_ was the boy who had snarled at her that she was a Mudblood? This was the boy who had let Death Eaters into Hogwarts, who had been ordered to kill Albus Dumbledore?

No, she thought, her fingers flying on instinct to his trousers as her climax faded. She unbuttoned the placket there and rifled around his tight black underwear as she thought that the wicked boy she'd once known was gone. If Severus Snape and Regulus Black could be redeemed Death Eaters, why not Draco Malfoy? That other boy was gone; the wizard before her was funny and intelligent. He listened to whispers. He worked in quiet solitude. He lived in quiet solitude. And he was very, very handsome just now.

"Draco," she mumbled again, feeling more drunk than she'd been in a good long while. Her hands were clumsy as she pulled him out, and she gasped a little.

"What?" he demanded, seeming offended at her reaction as she wrapped her hands around his rigid shaft.

"You're bigger than… him," Hermione said, feeling her cheeks go hot, and Draco practically cackled with glee.

"Bigger than Weasley. Right. File that away for when I need a good pick-me-up."

"Stop," Hermione scolded him, but she couldn't help giving him a crooked little smile. She stared down at his cock, at its swollen purplish head and its stick-straight shaft, at the way a single vein was visible along the length.

"You study everything, don't you?" Draco's voice wasn't unkind anymore, and his hand went back to her chest the way it had done earlier in his office. This time, he slid one hand up her silk shirt and cupped her breast, playing with her nipple through the thin material of her bra.

"I want…" Hermione shut her eyes, feeling dizzy as her thumb dragged over the tip of Draco's cock. He hissed and burrowed his face into the crook of her neck, letting out a helpless sort of sound when she touched the spot on the bottom, where the shaft met the tip. Hermione tried to find breath, and she whispered again, "I want…  _this_."

"I think we should be sober," Draco mumbled, and Hermione knew he was right. They'd both have all sorts of regrets if they each lost their virginity piss drunk on whole bottles of wine, stomachs full of Draco's mediocre spaghetti. Draco shifted a little, reaching between them, and he encouraged her to play with him a little more. His wand went between the two of them, and he whispered, " _Lubrico_."

"I'll bet that spell gets used quite a lot in the boys' dormitories at Hogwarts," Hermione mused, feeling the oil-like slick that materialised beneath her hand. She could pump her fist on him now without too much friction, and Draco seemed to enjoy that quite a lot. He leaned against the kitchen wall, bracing himself with both hands as he asked breathlessly,

"Do you want to… you know… again?"

"N-No; I'm good." Hermione could hardly breathe, could hardly stand, and she realised her body was shrieking at her to yank her knickers down and let him shove himself into her body. But she was so drunk, more drunk by the moment, and everything was going blurry before her. He was right; they couldn't take this too far after this much wine.

The old Draco wouldn't have cared, she thought very distantly. Then she quickened her hand on him, focusing on his tip. She swirled her palm around him and then pumped back down, tightening the pressure a little, and suddenly Draco slapped the wall.

"Merlin's beard, Hermione. Oh.  _Oh…_ "

He kissed her so hard then that her head banged back against the wallpaper. Their teeth clacked and their tongues were clumsy, and all of a sudden, Hermione felt her hand covered in a warm fluid. She glanced down to see that Draco had come all over both of them; it had landed in spurts on the front of her skirt and top, and it was dribbling down his trouser leg. Her hand was a disaster, and his cock was coated in it. Draco huffed in frustration and mumbled,

"Sorry. I… sorry."

He was drunk, too. She could see that plainly as he reached for his wand and looked very uncertain.

"Draco, I think we're both a little too drunk to be casting spells on… you know… those body parts," Hermione said. "How about good old-fashioned soap and water?"

"Right." Draco stumbled with her over to the sink, and Hermione washed her messy hand and then used a rag to scrub with a bar of soap at her skirt and top. She was wet and smelled of lavender afterward, but she didn't mind. Draco managed to wash himself up and tuck his softened cock back into his cleaned-up trousers. He struggled with the buttons, and Hermione moved to help him. She couldn't do them up, either, so they both laughed a little, and then Hermione pulled her hands away and shrugged.

"It doesn't matter, does it?"

"What doesn't matter?" Draco asked, sounding completely sloshed now. Hermione tried to tell him that the buttons didn't matter, but instead something made her say,

"It doesn't matter… there will be other times, sober times."

"Oh." Draco lowered his eyes and nodded. "I hope so. I like you more than I thought I'd like you. I like you a lot. I'm rambling."

"You're drunk, and so am I, and I should get home before anything ridiculous happens," Hermione said, "like me going upstairs and spending the night in the bed of Draco Malfoy, of all people."

"Of all people," he repeated, and Hermione gulped.

"I didn't mean -"

"Yes, you did," he nodded, "but it's all right, because you've forgiven me, and I'll appear on the front page of the  _Daily Prophet_ shaking your hand and grinning like a fool if that's what you want. If that's what… what your movement needs."

" _The_  movement," Hermione corrected, blinking slowly. "It isn't mine; it's everybody's."

Draco nodded and bent to kiss her cheek as he told her, "You're all alone, just like me. You're all alone because there isn't a single witch or wizard who's even just a little bit like you."

"Oh." Hermione didn't know what to say to that. Finally she mumbled, "I've got Muggle money; I'll get a black cab back to my parents' house. Don't feel safe Apparating like this."

"You could stay," Draco slurred, but Hermione gave him a meaningful look.

"We stayed downstairs for a reason."

He nodded finally and walked with uneven steps out to the foyer with her. He dragged his fingers over her hair and whispered,

"I'm sorry there was no Tikka Masala. Sorry the spaghetti was shit."

"It wasn't bad at all, actually." Hermione glanced into the dining room. "Don't drink all that wine tonight."

"Fine." He smirked and gave her a long, serious look, and he said again, "I like you more than I ever thought I could, Hermione Granger. And I am sorry."

"You can stop apologising now," she insisted, reaching up to hold his face. She glanced down at his trousers, still unbuttoned, and shivered as she remembered the way he'd made her finish against the wall with a spell, the way his manhood had felt in her hand. She shut her eyes and he kissed her, lightly at first and then more deeply. Hermione finally pulled away and mumbled,

"Another time. Sober. I want it."

Half his mouth turned up, and he nodded. "I want you, too, Granger. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Draco." She nearly fell going down his steps and she heard a sound of concern from him in the doorway, but she put a hand up to signal that she was all right. She walked through his gate and stood on the sidewalk, her arm in the air to hail a cab. She stared back up at Draco, who looked like he was on the verge of falling over, and she smiled a little as a black cab pulled up.

**Author's Note: Well, well, well. So it was Snape and Regulus (probably) talking directly to Draco. And Dumbledore, too. Seems to be a movement on the other side of the Veil to encourage Draco and Hermione in terms of reconciliation efforts, no? Thanks for reading, and a HUGE HUGE HUGE thanks to those who have reviewed.**


	9. Scarred

_Ding-dong._

"Hermione, dear, I'm cooking. Could you get that?"

"No problem, Mum." Hermione dashed through the sitting room to the front door and flung it open, and then she gasped a little and said, "Harry."

Harry Potter gestured to the foyer of her parents' house, and as Hermione stepped aside, her mother called from the kitchen,

"Who is it, Hermione?"

"It's my friend Harry," Hermione called back. "We're… erm… going to go talk upstairs."

She led Harry silently up the staircase, and from behind her, he noted,

"This is a nice place you got them. I'm sure they're glad to be back."

"I'm glad to have them back," Hermione said. She led Harry into her bedroom, a sunny space with white and pale blue furnishings, and she sat on the edge of the bed beside him. Harry pushed his glasses up his nose and said,

"Ron gave me the address. He didn't want to come."

"I'm not surprised." Hermione pinched her lips. "The last time I saw him, he treated me like some sort of traitor. He doesn't understand, Harry."

Harry sighed deeply and touched his fingertips to his forehead. Finally he said,

"Hermione, Ron and I are training to be Aurors. Our job will be to apprehend and help punish Dark witches and wizards. That's going to include a whole lot of them who were our enemies in the war."

"I know," Hermione conceded, "but think of Snape. Think of Regulus Black. How many times has someone gone down the wrong path and then realised they made bad choices? What sort of people are we if we refuse, under any circumstances, to forgive?"

"Would you forgive Bellatrix Lestrange?" Harry demanded, and Hermione scoffed.

"No, and Ron asked me the same thing. Draco was pulled into all this, by his bloodline and by his upbringing. You know that. He is sorry. He  _is._ "

"How can you be sure?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes behind his glasses, and Hermione admitted,

"We've had many conversations now, Draco and I."

"Oh, you have, have you?" Harry let out a bitter laugh. "Going to go on a nice dinner date and discuss Dumbledore over oysters, are you?"

"Harry." Hermione shut her eyes, and there was a very heavy silence. When she opened her eyes again, Harry was shaking his head.

"Tell me you haven't… tell me you're not…"

"I have no idea what exists between Draco and me right now," Hermione said honestly, "but I forgive him, and he is going to help me work toward a movement of reconciliation. I don't have logistics worked out yet. I don't know how we're meant to tell who's really sorry and who wants to escape punishment. I'll figure it all out. I will, with Draco's help. I'd like your help, too, and Ron's and Ginny's and Luna's and Neville's."

Harry shook his head. "Neville Longbottom had his childhood completely destroyed by Death Eaters."

"So did you," Hermione pointed out. Harry tipped his head and said seriously,

"You're going to be very alone in this crusade, at least at the beginning. If it'll help you, I'll do an interview with the  _Prophet_  or something where I make a statement that all genuinely repentant witches and wizards - at least the ones who didn't commit unforgivable crimes - should be given the chance to establish more friendly… oh, Hermione… I can't say any of that whilst I'm in Auror training, and you know it."

He threw his hands up, and Hermione nibbled her bottom lip. Her eyes watered a little, and she shrugged.

"Maybe we all just need a little more time."

"Yeah. It's barely been a year," Harry pointed out. "Why don't you focus on Squibs and House-Elves for now? Build up a reputation as someone who fights for justice in the Ministry? Give it all a little time. Wounds are still fresh. Maybe in a year or two, people will be ready to listen."

"I hope so." Hermione threw her arms around Harry then, and she asked him quietly, "Does Ron hate me?"  
"No." Harry pulled back and shook his head. "No. He feels betrayed by the fact that you'd actually talk to Draco Malfoy."

"Talk." Hermione shut her eyes and remembered the feel of Draco's cock in her hand, of his wand setting a climax on her, of his mouth crushing hers. Harry's voice shook a little then as he asked,

"What have you done with him?"

"It doesn't matter," Hermione insisted, but Harry's eyebrows flew up and he countered,

"I think it matters a lot. But you'll have to live with whatever decisions you make when it comes to Draco Malfoy, Hermione. As far as I'm concerned, he's a slimy piece of dragon dung who went out of his way to make all our lives miserable. If he's sorry, great. Good. He should be."

Hermione sucked in a breath and asked, "Are you still my friend?"

Harry looked almost hurt then, and he reached to tuck Hermione's hair behind her ear.

"I'll always be your friend."

* * *

"Hello."

"Hi." Hermione stared at Draco, knowing at once that she'd awakened him. He had on a flannel robe of dark grey, along with black flannel pyjama trousers, and very evidently no shirt beneath. His normally neat hair was a complete mess, and his eyes were bleary. Well, Hermione thought, this was what she got for coming to his house at two in the morning.

"Erm… come on in." Draco let her in and shut the door, turning the deadbolt. He rubbed at his eyes and asked in a drowsy voice, "Can I… help you?"

"I need to show you something." Hermione yanked back the sleeve of the turtleneck jumper she wore. She shoved her arm toward Draco, and she watched his face fall as he made out the pale pinkish outline of what Bellatrix Lestrange had done to her.  _Mudblood_.

"Now you show me yours," Hermione ordered him. Draco hesitated but finally pulled back the sleeve of his flannel robe, revealing the faint outline of the Dark Mark that had been dormant since Voldemort's death. Hermione's eyes burned, and she noted,

"We're both scarred, you and I. Scarred and banged up from the war, aren't we?"

He hesitated and then said, "I realise it's not at all the same thing to have taken the Dark Mark and to have been… branded… the way you were. It isn't the same, and I know it."

"Scars are scars," Hermione said simply. "Harry's scarred because he survived Voldemort's Killing Curse. George Weasley got his ear sliced off when Snape was trying to keep his cover as a double agent. Neville Longbottom got scarred up by the Carrows. You'll wear the mark of evil on your arm forever, and I've got the worst word in the wizarding world tattooed on me. None of us escaped unscathed, did we? Not really."

Draco sighed and stepped closer to Hermione, snaring his arms around her. He tipped his head to the side a little and admitted,

"Before the doorbell rang, I dreamed that you were reading a book."

"That is a very realistic dream," Hermione said, but Draco rolled his eyes. He said,

" _War and Peace_. The book was called  _War and Peace._ "

"That's a real book," Hermione informed him. "It's by a Muggle author, a Russian called Tolstoy. I haven't actually read it… not the whole thing. What an embarrassing thing to admit. I know the story."

"In my dream," Draco said, "you were wearing white robes, and you were at a white desk, and there was blinding sunlight streaming through the window. And there was a little ball of black darkness hovering over your shoulder, and you were reading  _War and Peace_."

Hermione stroked at his face and shrugged. "I shall have to make time to read it, I suppose."

They stared at one another for a very long time, then, and finally Draco asked, "Will you come upstairs?"

Hermione nodded, and Draco laced his fingers through hers and led her up his wooden stairs with the carpeted runner. She followed him, her heart beating like a war drum and her stomach tying itself into knots. They walked into a small bedroom, not cramped but hardly spacious, with a simple bed, a mahogany frame and a cream-coloured quilt. The walls were a very neutral light brown, and the place felt peaceful. Hermione looked around, noticing the rumpled blankets and sheets, and she said,

"I'm sorry I woke you."

"I don't mind." Draco looked rather awkward then. He opened his mouth, shut it, and his cheeks went a little pink. Hermione suddenly blurted out,

"Everyone says it hurts the first time."

"The… you mean…" Draco trailed off. He looked away, staring at the wall, and he mumbled, "I was going to do it with Pansy, but I just didn't want it. She was obnoxious."

Hermione snorted and stepped closer to him. Her hands went to the tie on his robe, a question in her eyes.

"Am I obnoxious?" she asked, and when Draco raised his eyebrows, she smiled a little and said, "Don't answer that."

"Why did you come here in the middle of the night?" Draco asked, pulling a little at the hem of her jumper. Hermione answered as honestly as she could.

"I was lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wishing I hadn't drunk so much wine the other night, because I realised I wanted more than what happened. I don't know why. I wish I knew why I wanted you so badly; maybe I could stop wanting you."

"I don't want to stop," Draco said, and he pulled her jumper up and over her head. She gasped a little at the feeling of standing there before him in just her bra, but she let him drop the jumper and stare at her chest for a moment. She felt her nipples peak, felt her skin tighten up as he stared at her, and she informed him crisply,

"I've taken an annual contraceptive potion every year since I was sixteen. Just in case, you know?"  
"Oh. That's good." Draco nodded and just kept staring. He reached out with a very tentative hand, his thumb grazing over Hermione's hardened nipple. His throat bobbed, and he asked, "Can I take it off?"

Hermione reached around her back and unclasped the bra, letting slide off her front and drop off her arms. She wasn't sure then whether to be ashamed or proud of her breasts. They were small, but they were round and perky, and so she wasn't sure all in all what he'd think of them. Draco's knuckles brushed along the curve, over the top and down around the bottom of one breast, and then his fingers squeezed very slowly. He made a little sound of want, a grunt of desire, and Hermione found herself shoving down the loose drawstring trousers she'd worn over here. She kicked off her trainers and slid her socks off, tossing her knickers aside, and then she said matter-of-factly,

"Here. I'm naked now."

"I see that," Draco nodded. He looked utterly terrified, which almost amused Hermione. She untied his flannel robe and pushed it off of him, very surprised by the definition in his chest and arms. He'd always looked skinny under his clothes, but he was sinewy and muscled. He was lean, to be certain, but there were curves and lines to his abdomen and chest and shoulders. Hermione shivered a little and told him,

"I suppose I'd always thought you'd spent the last few years at Hogwarts shagging every Slytherin girl in sight."

"I didn't want any of them," Draco said simply, "and, anyway, I was… busy."

"Oh. Yes." Hermione huffed a breath, glancing at the dormant Dark Mark on his left forearm and the barely visible word  _Mudblood_  on her own arm. She glanced back and forth between the scars and then raised her eyes to him.

"You will be a better man than the ones who came before you. People died. So many people died for all of this, but we can live for what comes next, can't we?"

He just nodded, pushing his pyjama trousers down until his cock sprang out. He swallowed hard again and whispered,

"I'm going to make it up to you. The mean things I said; I'm going to make it up to. Not all in one night, I know, but I will. Somehow."

"Just kiss me." Hermione said firmly. "For now, just kiss me."

He did, his cock jabbing against Hermione's stomach as he moved closer. He started to walk them over to the bed, his lips dragging along Hermione's as they moved. She urged him to deepen the kiss, not caring at all that he tasted like sleep. She sucked his lip between her teeth and bit down a little, and then Draco shoved her onto the bed.

"Don't tease me like that," he scolded her, and Hermione laughed a little.

"What, you don't like to be teased?" She scraped her fingernails very gently down his chest and felt him shudder. His eyes wrenched shut when she reached down and dragged the pad of her thumb over the tip of his cock. He hovered above her and said through clenched teeth,

"No, it's… I quite like it. Too much. Stop,  _stop,_  or this is going to last two minutes."

Hermione stifled her smile and pulled her hand from him. She stared up at him, and his blue eyes flashed. He bent down then and touched his lips just below her ear, pushing her curls aside. Hermione sighed; that skin was more sensitive than she'd realised. Ron had never spent much time kissing here here. Ron had never kissed her the way Draco was doing now - lathing his tongue from her shoulder to her ear, suckling there and then planting soft kisses with his lips.

"Draco." Hermione had never imagined that she'd be whispering his name with her fingers burrowed in his blond hair, but here they were. She was sopping wet between her legs now, and there was a throbbing ache, a  _need._  She reached between them and parted her legs, pulling her knees up toward her chest and aiming Draco's tip at her unpractised entrance.

"Do it," she whispered, and he kissed her neck harder, groaning rather loudly. He pushed in just a little, and Hermione cried so loudly that Draco yanked his face away. He stared at her, worried, bracing himself on his shaking arms as he studied the pain on her face. Hermione shook her head wildly, ignoring the burning and stretching as she insisted,

"It'll pass."

"You're beautiful," Draco said suddenly, and Hermione felt her mouth fall open. Her fingers cinched on the sheets, and she found herself in the unusual position of having nothing of note to say. Draco pushed his hips forward a little, and Hermione whimpered in pain but tried to make her body welcome him. He pulled back and pushed forward a little more, and she said honestly,

"Not so bad anymore."

"You are very, very beautiful," Draco said, more emphatically this time. He started to move his hips steadily, cycling them in a fluid rhythm as Hermione's body accepted the push and pull. It started to feel good, so,  _so_  good. He bent down and used one hand to carefully massage a breast as his lips went beside her ear. "I was so wrong about you for so long. You're brilliant. Bloody brilliant, Hermione, and you… you're brave, and you're strong, and you are very beautiful, and…  _oh._ "

"Draco." She put her palms flat against his back, and she watched him reach for his wand off the bedside table. She was curious about what he was doing until he muttered,

"I've got thirty seconds, and I won't have you… not… mmph…  _Gaudens Maxima._ "

Hermione was hit suddenly by the force of the climax he'd inflicted on her, just like the way he'd done in his kitchen. At least, she thought, he cared that she finished. She could guess that many wizards wouldn't care. There had been many times where she'd used her hand on Ron and he'd finished just fine without Hermione feeling more than a little twinge of arousal. But this,  _this_ , was bliss. She was clenching around him, whining his name, digging her fingernails into his back a little.

His breath quickened into huffing pants beside her ear, and then he touched his lips to her cheek and let out a low groan of satisfaction. Her own white-hot climax must have driven him over the edge, Hermione thought. She could feel him twitching inside of her, an odd sensation. Then she felt his come leaking out of her, streaming down her thigh whilst he was still inside of her. This was all profoundly messy, she thought.

He stayed inside of her for a very long time, catching his breath and kissing Hermione's lips gently. She thought distantly that they were more scarred than ever now, two enemies lying in bed with their naked bodies tangled up.

"I'm not sorry," she whispered, and Draco shook his head as he finally pulled out of her and lay beside her on the sheets.

"Neither am I."

Hermione reached for her own wand and cast some Scouring and Siphoning spells on the messy sheets and their bodies. She ought not be embarrassed to see her blood or his seed on the bed, she thought. Sex was perfectly natural. But then she thought of what Ginny would say, what Ron and Harry would say.

"I'm not sorry," she whispered again, laying her wand down and feeling Draco pull the quilt up around them.

"We both have to work in a few hours," he reminded her. "Might be smart to get a little sleep."

"Is that your way of asking me to stay?" Hermione turned her face to look at him. Draco just stared back, his eyes seeming more pale than ever in the moonlight. He finally nodded once, and Hermione noted, "I'll have to Transfigure my clothes for work."

"I think you're capable of doing that," Draco said softly. Hermione reached for his hand, rolling a little toward him. She laced the fingers of her left hand through the fingers of his left hand. The Dark Mark.  _Mudblood_. Scars they'd bear forever. And now she'd given herself to him, and he'd given himself to her, and even Harry had told her that it would be a good long while before her movement for reconciliation could take hold.

It was only them.

It was just her and Draco, the two of them bound by forgiveness instead of separated by hatred. She examined the way his blond hair fell in front of his blue eyes, the way his lips were parted just so, and she asked,

"Do you ever hear a whisper that makes you want to go back to it? To the Darkness you've abandoned?"

"No," he said immediately. Then, appearing to want very badly to change the subject, he said, "I've never been to a Muggle cinema, and I'd like to go. There's something called  _The Sixth Sense._  It's about a little boy who sees dead people, apparently."

Hermione frowned. "After the work you do all day, you want to go see a Muggle film about a boy who sees dead people?"

Draco's bottom lip stuck out a little, and he finally said, "There's something called  _The Astronaut's Wife._  An astronaut is someone who -"

"I know what an astronaut is," Hermione laughed. She nodded. "Right. This weekend, we'll go to a Muggle cinema and watch  _The Astronaut's Wife_ and eat loads of popcorn, and then we'll come home and have a contest to see who can Conjure the best."

He smirked at her and said, "Yeah. Sounds good. Night, Hermione."

He didn't turn away. He just shut his eyes, tightening his grip on her hand a little. Hermione shut her eyes, too, and she whispered,

"I'm glad you've finally agreed to be my friend."

There was a long pause, and he murmured back, "So am I, Granger."

**Author's Note: Awwwww. They did it! LOL. But even Harry's not fully on board with Hermione's grand plans for societal reconciliation. Is there any way for her to extrapolate this system of forgiveness beyond her illicit relationship with Draco? Can they ever be public in any way? And what about DATE NIGHT? Ha. Thank you so much for reading, and to those who have reviewed, I grant fifty points to your House and a Chocolate Frog with a really rare card inside. :)**


	10. Fake Butter

He almost looked like a child.

The vicious snarls she'd seen from him in days long past were gone from his face. His lips rested peacefully, parted just a little bit as his breath came slow and steady in sleep. His hand was flat on the mattress, having moved away from hers just a little. His fingers were long and thin, Hermione noted, and she remembered what his hands had felt like on her.

She'd absolutely hated him, once upon a time. She'd never been as hurt, as egregiously wounded to her core, as when he'd said the words  _you filthy little Mudblood_.

But they'd been children then, and that had been before the war. Draco had spent summers and holidays in a home of privilege where he'd been told that he and others like him were special. It was a difficult thing, Hermione thought, to unravel that sort of mental propaganda. It certainly didn't excuse the fact that Draco had been nothing but a colossal bully during their years at Hogwarts. But what it did explain was  _why_  Draco had felt compelled and entitled to say and do the things he did. They'd still been wrong things, but…

But he was sorry.

Regulus Black had been raised in a family that thought itself above the fray. He'd been told he and his kin were sacred. He'd joined Voldemort's ranks. Then he'd found out Voldemort's secret and had paid with his life. If that wasn't redemption, what was? Severus Snape had joined the Death Eaters looking for somewhere to fit in, somewhere to feel important. He'd called Lily Evans a Mudblood, just like Draco had done to Hermione. But Severus Snape had spent the last years of his life in constant risk. He'd promised to commit the most egregious offence - to kill Albus Dumbledore - to spare Draco's soul. And, in the end, he'd paid with his life. If that wasn't redemption, what was?

Hermione stared at Draco as he slept, at the way his icy blond hair felt in little tendrils over his face, the way his porcelain skin almost glowed in the early light of morning. She thought of his pride over cooking spaghetti, the way he listened to the whispers of the dead all day, the feel of his hands on her, the way half his mouth turned up when he was amused or smug.

His eyes blinked open, the colour of a summer sky, and his voice was hoarse as he demanded,

"How long have you been watching me sleep, Granger?"

She smiled a little and said honestly, "Not very long."

Draco reached for her fingers and dragged them beneath the blanket, and she sucked in air when she felt that he was hard as a rock. They'd fallen asleep naked, and on instinct she wrapped her fingers around his shaft and watched his eyes flutter shut. She'd need a lot to get wet, even more to come, but she had a desire to ride him, and she decided she was going to do just that.

* * *

"That's not real butter," Draco mumbled as the red-aproned teenaged boy drizzled fluorescent yellow goop all over their popcorn.

"It tastes good," Hermione promised, but Draco scowled.

"He's putting far too much salt on it."

"Mmm… loads of salt and fake butter and entirely too much Coca-Cola… mmm." Hermione taunted Draco as she passed over Muggle money to the teenaged employee. Draco smirked as he pulled the tub of popcorn off the counter and popped a piece into his mouth.

"It is not  _terrible_ ," he said, and Hermione laughed so hard so almost dropped the two drink cups she carried. Draco took another piece as they walked toward the theatre showing  _The Astronaut's Wife._  It was completely deserted when they walked in, so Hermione walked up the stairs and chose some seats in the centre of the theatre.

"I mean, I heard this wasn't exactly killing at the box office, but…" She reached for some popcorn, and Draco just stared at her for a long moment. Finally Hermione swallowed her popcorn and demanded, "What?"

"Do you have siblings?" Draco asked seriously, and Hermione frowned.

"No. Only child. Just like you. Why?"

"I want to know you better," Draco said, tipping his head and taking a few pieces of popcorn. He seemed thoughtful for a moment, then he asked, "What was your favourite class at Hogwarts.  _All of them_ is not a valid reply."

Hermione laughed and sipped from her fizzy drink, wincing at the carbonation. She finally said,

"In our early years, it was Charms. I just wanted to learn spell after spell. But I quickly memorised every spellbook in the library, and then the class felt a little redundant. I liked Arithmancy. It seemed far more evidence-based than other prediction methods. And, unlike you, I actually liked when Hagrid taught Magical Creatures."

She gave him a meaningful look, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"All right. Fine. I acted like an infant when that stupid hippogriff scratched me. I am sorry."

"What was your favourite?" Hermione asked. "Potions, I'd wager."

Draco pursed his lips and said, "Don't ever tell anyone this, but I actually found myself a little too interested in Professor Binns' History of Magic lessons."

Hermione laughed aloud then. She looked around the empty theatre and wondered if anyone else was going to show up. She sipped from her drink again, and Draco said suddenly,

"I remember when you went to the Yule Ball with Viktor Krum. You looked so pretty that I couldn't even think of anything horrible to say."

Hermione gave him a weak little smile and said honestly, "I had fun playing dress up."

"Maybe you could play dress up again sometime." Draco cleared his throat and stared at the popcorn. "Maybe we could go somewhere a bit more formal than a cinema sometime. Eat something a little more gourmet than popcorn. I hear the Muggles manage to pull off some quite luxurious dining experiences."

"Draco Malfoy," Hermione whispered, "are you asking me on a date?  _Another_ date?"

Draco just stared at the popcorn, reaching for a piece and studying it. Then he asked,

"When's your birthday? September, isn't it? I remember Potter and Weasley making a great deal of your birthday every September."

Hermione's eyes burned. "The nineteenth."

"Have you heard of The Square?" Draco asked quietly. "It's a very highly acclaimed Muggle restaurant."

Hermione just nodded, struggling to speak. "My dad took my mum there for their twentieth wedding anniversary a few years ago. It's… they said it was very nice."

"I'd like to go there on your birthday," Draco mused, popping the piece of popcorn into his mouth. He chewed it and stared at Hermione as he picked up his drink and sipped. Hermione just nodded silently, realising that she was dating him, that she was actually dating Draco Malfoy. Before she could say anything, the lights went down in the theatre and the screen illuminated, showing preview after preview.

"I don't understand," Draco said, not bothering to whisper since they had the place to themselves. "Why are they showing all of this?"

"It's films that are coming to cinemas soon. They're basically just teasing you to make you want to see them," Hermione explained. Draco frowned.

"I just want to see the film we bought tickets for."

Hermione laughed a little at that. Eventually the movie started. It was bizarre, and Hermione had difficulty following the plot, mostly because she was very distracted by the presence of Draco Malfoy beside her. They ate their way through the popcorn, their fingers brushing every now and then. Once, when their hands touched, Draco didn't let go. He let his thumb drift over Hermione's and she shut her eyes as she tried desperately not to  _want_ him. The film was so dull, and all she could focus on was the feel of Draco's hand inside the popcorn tub, greasy from the fake butter, touching her fingers like she was made of precious metal.

" _Scourgify,_ " he incanted, and she looked over to see that he'd set the mostly-empty popcorn tub down and had pulled out his wand. She held her hands out to him and he Scoured them for her, and she gave him a grateful look, glad the slip of the salt and 'butter' was gone. Draco slipped his wand back into his jacket and asked,

"Are all Muggle films this awful?"

"No," Hermione laughed. "This one is really quite bad, isn't it?"

"I'm not interested in it," Draco said, his eyes locking onto Hermione's. The movie kept playing, and a whitish-blue light was cast over Draco's face, making Hermione think of the lighting in the Department of Mysteries.

She reached suddenly for his knee, stroking him a little there and watching as he dragged his teeth over his bottom lip.

"That dreadful orange cat you had at school," he said, and Hermione smiled a little.

"Crookshanks. He lives at my parents' house. He likes them better than he likes me."

"Where do your parents live?" Draco asked, and Hermione blinked.

"When I brought them back from Australia, I got them a place in Paddington. A townhouse. They're starting their dentist work back up."

"Dentistry." Draco nodded and seemed to recall, "It's using manual methods, Muggle methods, to cure things like tooth decay and cavities and such."

"Yes. Muggles haven't got spells for things like that. Medicine and dentistry and cosmetics are all handled very differently," Hermione said. "It isn't better or worse; it's different."

"Hmm." Draco seemed to be biting his tongue, and Hermione knew he wanted to say that it was certainly superior to simply be able to take a potion to repair any dental damage and to Scour one's teeth morning and night. If she was honest, she agreed with him that it was more efficient. But Muggles simply didn't have magic. She smiled a little at Draco and rubbed his knee a bit.

"I'm not asking you to turn into Arthur Weasley, fawning all over Muggle life."

"Good, because that expectation would lead to disappointment, I'm afraid," Draco said. He flicked his eyes toward the screen, watching the film for a few moments while Hermione watched him. He stared at the screen and teased her, "You're missing this spectacular work of cinematic genius."

"We can go," Hermione told him, and Draco nodded as he glanced to the floor.

"We ate almost all the popcorn, anyway, and that was the real reason for coming, wasn't it?"

He met her eyes again, and Hermione felt her breath catch as the light from the film hit his eyes just so. He covered her hand on his knee and told her very firmly,

"Even when I didn't like you, Hermione Granger, I really did admire and envy you. And when I saw you dancing with Viktor Krum at that stupid Yule Ball, I was so jealous I wanted to smash something. I wanted to dance with you."

Hermione frowned. "Even then?"

He nodded. "Even then. I would have scowled at you and mocked you while we danced, but -"

"I wouldn't have danced with you then," Hermione said crisply, and Draco nodded.

"I know." He paused, glanced to the screen again, and kept staring at the film as he asked softly, "What about now?"

"I'd dance with you now," Hermione said very confidently, and she watched Draco's throat bob, shadowed by the dancing light from the film.

"I'd like that very much," Draco whispered. "To… to dance with you… sometime."

They wound up staying through the film. Halfway through, Hermione leaned her head onto Draco's shoulder and whispered,

"This is really a terrible movie."

"It's just silly," Draco mumbled, but his fingers threaded through Hermione's, and he certainly didn't seem to mind the way she'd leaned onto him. By the time the credits rolled and the lights came up, Hermione rubbed at her eyes and admitted,

"I almost fell asleep."

Draco laughed a little and pulled his wand back out. He aimed it at their nearly-empty popcorn bucket and then their drinks and murmured,

" _Evanesco_."

Hermione choked a little laugh.

"There are rubbish bins outside the theatre," she said, "and people whose job it is to clean up, and… you know what, it's fine. You Vanished the popcorn. Very well done."

Draco smirked and tucked his wand away again. As he and Hermione descended the stairs from their seats, she felt his fingers brush hers, and she paused. He wanted to hold her hand whilst they walked. She turned over her shoulder, staring up a carpeted stair to where he stood. There was uncertainty in his pale eyes, and he whispered,

"You don't have to -"

"I'd like to." Hermione firmly clasped her hand around his and kept walking. As they made their way out to the lobby of the cinema, she said again to him, "I'd give that film one out of five stars. No good. But I didn't mind the popcorn."

"I'm not going to lie and say the false butter and overuse of salt hasn't left me just the slightest bit queasy," Draco said, and Hermione laughed.

"Hermione?"

She looked up, shocked at the sound of Ron Weasley's voice. She immediately released Draco's hand, reading horror and disgust on Ron's face. Beside him stood Harry Potter, who glanced from Draco to Hermione and just looked very sad.

"What… what are you two doing here?" Hermione demanded.

"Could bloody well ask the same of you!" Ron snapped. He glared at Draco Malfoy and looked him up and down, shaking his head and curling up his lip.

"Ron's never been to a Muggle cinema," Harry said, "and I saw an ad for  _The Sixth Sense_  saying it was good… thought I'd show Ron what it's like to see a Muggle film. We nearly brought his father, but we were afraid Mr Weasley would talk through the whole thing."

"I don't want to see a bloody film," Ron snapped, storming to a rubbish bin and tossing in the packaged candy he'd been holding. "Come on, Harry; we're leaving."

"We were just on our way out, so you can feel free to stay," Hermione said tersely, feeling her cheeks go hot.

"Listen," Draco said softly, "I understand that neither of you are particularly open to hearing any sort of -"

"No,  _you_  listen," Ron snapped. "You did nothing but put all our lives at risk for years. You called Hermione a Mudblood. Have you seen her arm? I'm sure you have. I'm sure you've seen more than her arm."

"Ronald!" Hermione took a step toward him and said in a shaking voice, "Your choices are your own to make. My choices are my own to make."

"Well your choices are bloody stupid!" Ron was almost shouting now, and Harry put a hand on his shoulder and muttered,

"You're making a bit of a scene, mate."

"Good. Let it be a bit bloody scene that Hermione Granger - Muggle-born heroine of the war against Voldemort - came striding out of a cinema hand-in-hand with the Death Eater who let the villains into Hogwarts and kickstarted the whole damned battle and -"

"Ron." Harry sighed and waited for Ron to look at him. "Let's just go watch the film, all right? Hermione… we'll talk soon. Good… erm… well, it was… you have a nice evening… Bye, Malfoy."

He had no idea how to talk to Draco Malfoy, Hermione could tell. Ron's eyes were welled with tears as Harry led him away, and Hermione felt silent tears streaming down her face. She could hardly breathe where she stood, and Draco said quietly from behind her,

"I'll… I'll let you make your own way home. Probably best that way."

Hermione whirled around, swiping at the tears in her eyes.

"You and I may be alone in moving on past the war, Draco, but we're going to be alone together, all right?"

He looked very surprised, but he finally nodded. "Yeah. All right."

"Lunch tomorrow? Noon? At the Atrium Café next to Ministry Munchies?" Hermione tipped her chin up, refusing to be upset anymore. Draco looked more surprised than ever.

"You want… to eat lunch with me… at the Ministry? In public?"

"Yes. Yes, I do." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and snapped, "Are you in this with me or not, Draco?"

He hesitated, but finally he said, "Lunch. Tomorrow. Noon."

**Author's Note: It's easy to see Ron's point of view here, because he was so victimized (along with many others) by those who fought against him in the war. But there are Muggle/real-world precedents for the importance of moving on after a huge conflict (See: the creation of the United Nations, France and Germany becoming allies so soon after WWII, etc) and there are definitely wizarding precedents for Dark and Pureblood witches/wizards disavowing their upbringing and past deeds. So it's also easy to see why Hermione feels such an urgent need for reconciliation. But what will the reaction be when people in the Ministry see Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy eating lunch together? Hmm… Thanks so much for reading and please do leave a review if you get a chance. My updating schedule may be a little sporadic over this Christmas break due to mass chaos in real life, but I'll update whenever I can. :)**


	11. Whatever Thing

He was late.

It was 12:03, and they'd said noon. He was three minutes late.

So when he came sauntering across the atrium, looking like he was going to be sick on the floor, Hermione considered scolding him for his tardiness. But then she saw how pale his face was, and when he walked up to her with a serious expression, she asked,

"What's happened?"

"Just… whispers I… it doesn't matter," Draco said, pinching his lips. He gestured to a table in the little Atrium Café, and he and Hermione sat. The wizards at the table beside them shot them looks of utter shock, then gazed at one another in silent wonder. Hermione pulled her chair in and asked again, more quietly,

"Can you tell me what happened, Draco?"

He touched his fingers to his forehead, and it was only then that Hermione saw how badly they were shaking.

"It's the little child. Every damned day… every day, he whispers. Begging for someone to tell his mummy that he isn't afraid anymore. Every single day, I hear that child whisper. But how am I meant to tell his mother anything when I haven't got any idea who he is? It isn't as though I can shout through the Veil asking for specifics. And, anyway, we don't pass the whispers along, and… I shouldn't discuss this here."

Hermione was shocked at how pale and drawn he looked. She reached on impulse for his hand, and he looked around quickly as others watched her cover his fingers with hers. Hermione didn't care.

"Maybe you should work in another department for a while," she suggested, but Draco shook his head.

"I just need to get my mind on something else for a while. I made the record. That's my job. I want to think of something else. Something happy."

"Erm… hello, Miss Granger," said the tall, skinny witch who served as the waitress at the employee café. "Mr Malfoy. What… what can I get for you?"

She seems completely shocked to see Hermione and Draco together. Hermione considered pulling her hand from Draco's, but she decided to leave it there, and she tipped her chin up a bit as she said,

"I'll have a steak pasty, please, with a side greens salad. Water with lemon, if you don't mind."

The witch nodded and scribbled down the order with a peacock feather quill. Her wide eyes turned to Draco, and he said quietly,

"That sounds good, actually. I'll have the same."

"It'll be out straight away," the witch said, staring over her shoulder as she walked away. Hermione could feel dozens of eyes on them, but she ignored them.

"I have something happy to tell you," she said honestly. "This morning I presented a draught of regulations for Elfish welfare to the head my department, Mr Tratt. All I'm asking for right now is a ban on corporal punishment or forced self-punishment involving physical harm. And do you know what he said?"

"What did he say?" Draco dragged his thumb over Hermione's, and she grinned.

"He said that he's going to approve it as department head and ask for the Minister's signature. Kingsley's a good friend of mine; he said he'll sign off on it as soon as it hits his desk. I know I'll face some kickback from people like… people like…"

"People like my family," Draco smirked. He released Hermione's hand as the waitress came back with their glasses of water with lemon. After she'd gone, Draco said seriously, "You're doing the right thing. What my father and mother did to Dobby, what they taught me to do to him… it was wrong. He wasn't an object; he was a creature with emotions and the ability to think, and the way we all treated him was… inexcusable."

Hermione felt a strange pull in her chest as his blue eyes shifted around and then shut for a moment. She remembered the look of Dobby on the beach, dagger lodged in his chest, bleeding out and reaching up for Harry. Her own eyes watered a little, and she said,

"Do you know it'll called? The new legislation banning physical mistreatment? It's the Dobby the House-Elf Regulations Against Corporal Punishment. A mouthful, I know, but… but it's in his honour."

"Oh." Draco lowered his head a little and said quietly, "One time, when I was a very little boy, not older than six or seven, I came down with dragon pox. A mild case, but I was laid up for a while. Dobby brought me warm soup. He rubbed ointment all over my sores. He took better care of me than my parents did. And I never, ever thanked him for it. I wish I could. I wish… I wish I could tell him I was sorry, and grateful."

Suddenly Hermione wished that Ron and Harry were here to hear Draco reflect upon what he'd done, to hear Draco say the things that needed to be said. She blinked quickly and watched as the waitress set down their steak pasties and greens salads. She cut into her pasty and noted,

"I read my parents' Muggle newspaper this morning. It said that  _The Astronaut's Wife_ is the worst film of the summer. It's barely made any money, and the critics despise it."

Draco laughed and stabbed his fork into his greens. He took a few bites of salad and sipped his water, and he said,

"I admittedly lack a solid schema for Muggle filmmaking, but it was…"

"Bad." Hermione grinned and blew on a bite of steak pasty.

"Hello."

She gulped down the bite and looked up at the sound of Harry's voice. Her mouth fell open, and Harry looked round, seeming to understand that this scene would be a scandal to everyone observing. Harry Potter - The Boy Who Lived. Hermione Granger - War Heroine. Draco Malfoy - Disavowed Death Eater. Hermione pushed out a chair and asked quietly,

"Would you like to sit?"

"Erm, no. Thanks." Harry licked his bottom lip and put his hands on the back of the chair. He stared at Draco, who looked back with a completely blank expression. Finally Harry sighed and turned his face to Hermione. "I just wanted to tell you, 'Mione, that… that you're a bigger person than I am. I'm not where you are. Not yet. Maybe someday. Ron… I dunno if he's ever going to be on board the Forgiveness Train. But you're right in saying that it's what we all need if we're ever going to heal. I promise you that as soon as my mind allows me, I'll join you… both of you… in trying to move forward."

Draco gulped, and he set down his fork and knife. He hesitated for a moment, and then he murmured,

"There's not much I could probably say, Potter, that would ever put things to rights between you and I. The only thing I want you to understand is that I know my family and the side I was on were all completely wrong. I know that  _I_ was wrong, that I said and did terrible things. And I want the rest of my life to be different. But if you hate forever, I can't say I would blame you for half an instant. If I were in your shoes, staring down an apology from a wizard like me… well, I'd still hate me, too."

"I don't  _hate_  you, Malfoy," Harry said, pinching his lips and tightening his fingers round the back of the chair. "I'm just nowhere near ready to be your friend, right?"

"Right." Draco nodded and stared down at his food. Harry studied him for a long moment and then turned his face back to Hermione.

"You're one of my best friends. We've been to hell and back together, you and I," he reminded her. "Ron'll do whatever he wants, and that's his right. And as for you, Hermione… I just want you happy. Because I care a lot about you, and I always will, and if sitting here at lunch and going to the cinema and doing other…  _things_ … with Draco Malfoy is what makes you happy, then…"

He trailed off and shut his eyes, looking a little nauseated. Hermione covered her hand with his and whispered,

"Thank you."

"Kingsley sent me a memo," Harry said crisply, opening his eyes. "He's planning on signing off on the Dobby the Elf Act, or…"

"The Dobby the House-Elf Regulations Against Corporal Punishment," Hermione nodded, smiling a little. Harry nodded, turning up half his mouth, and he glanced at Draco before he told Hermione,

"It's a great tribute. You're doing good work."

"We all are," Hermione said firmly. "You and Ron as Aurors. Me with my welfare work. And Draco… well, his work is important, too."

"I'm sure it is." Harry waved off the waitress who seemed curious as to whether he was staying or going. Harry sighed and said, "See you around, 'Mione. Malfoy."

"See you, Potter," Draco said quietly, and Hermione squeezed Harry's hand before he walked away.

She and Draco finished the rest of their meal in silence, knowing that nearly everyone in the atrium had eyes on them. Hermione insisted on paying for her own meal, and once the table had been cleared, she said rather awkwardly,

"I should get back up to my office."

"And I should go back down to… well." Draco gnawed his lip, and Hermione furrowed her brow.

"This job is eating away at you. I can see it."

"Oh, can you?" Draco's voice was harsh then, and his eyes were cold as he raised them to her. "Someone's got to listen to them. I'm not really sure why; if it were up to me, I'd just let them whisper and cry out into the void and be ignored. But for some reason that I'm not privy to, it's important that what the dead say be heard, and recorded, and saved. And I'm going to find out who that little boy is, Hermione; I'm going to…"

He shut his eyes and took a shaking breath. Hermione had a sudden idea, and she asked,

"How new are the whispers?"  
Draco frowned and said, "Most of them are people who have died in the last few years. They haven't fully moved on. That's what I'm made to understand."

"How old does the boy sound?" Hermione asked, and Draco suddenly seemed to realise what she was getting at. His throat bobbed.

"I dunno. Little. Five. Six. Just a little thing."

"I'm going to ask Kingsley to get me records," Hermione said firmly. "All deaths of little boys from the last twenty years. If he keeps whispering… you don't have to pass on the actual record, Draco, but you could find his mother for him."

Draco shook his head firmly. "That's not my job; that's not what I'm meant to -"

"But you'd feel better, wouldn't you?" Hermione asked in a whisper. "If you could find that boy's mother and reassure her that her little boy isn't afraid, that he wanted her to know that?"

Draco's face went white as a sheet, and he mumbled, "This is why I'm not meant to discuss my work. You can't interfere, Hermione. The Department of Mysteries doesn't go about hunting down family members and passing on messages."

Hermione pinched her lips, resisting the Gryffindor urge within her to ignore Draco and get the records without his permission. It would be just like her; she'd ignored rules for as long as she could remember. She tried once more to convince him, saying,

"Sometimes the way things are traditionally done isn't the best way."

"Listen, Granger," Draco said, and she heard a hint of his old snarl there. "I know you're no goody two-shoes. I know you like to break systems, not just rules. Stealing ingredients to make Polyjuice Potion. Permanently scarring Marietta Edgecombe. Obliviating your parents. Breaking into the Ministry whilst impersonating a Ministry official. Keeping Rita Skeeter in a jar as a beetle. Now passing new legislation to protect House-Elves"

Hermione scowled. They'd discussed many of the less-savoury things she'd done over the years. It was one of the ways she'd reassured Draco that she was no saint herself, but that she'd always had good intentions. She scowled now and said,

"Everything I've done has been to protect the people I care about," she said bitterly. "If I could help you find that little boy's family, then -"

"No." Draco shook his head firmly, and there was a flash in his blue eyes that left no room for debate. "No. I will not be sacked because you decided to take it upon yourself to demolish every bit of protocol my position calls for. I will hear the child's whispers, and I will record them, and if I need Dreamless Sleep to make it through the night without him in my head, then I will take Dreamless Sleep? Do you understand? Don't do what you're thinking of doing, Hermione."

She frowned deeply but finally nodded and said, "If you ever change your mind…"

"Yes, I'm sure you'll be more than willing to track down the bereaved mother," Draco nodded. "So if I ever change my mind, I'll let you know. For now, Hermione, you must do  _nothing_ about this. Please, if you care at all for whatever little… whatever sort of  _thing_  has sprung up between you and me, then swear it. Swear you'll do nothing."

Whatever thing had sprung up between them. Hermione gulped and nodded again.

"I swear I won't do anything unless you ask me to," she promised. She stared at him for a very long moment, and she finally asked in a soft voice, "What sort of thing has sprung up?"

"The sort that makes me want to ask if you'd like to join me at the Royal Opera House this weekend," Draco said. He reached into his robes and pulled out two tickets, which he slid across the table to Hermione. "I've done some research, and I suspect we'll both enjoy a Muggle production of opera better than  _The Astronaut's Wife._ "

Hermione grinned as she picked up the tickets. " _The Magic Flute_. Fitting."

"Will you come?" Draco asked tightly, and Hermione smiled at him and nodded.

"Oh, yes. I'd love to. Thank you."

"Right." Draco took the tickets back and tucked them away, and he huffed a breath. "Back the grind. Have a good rest of the day, then."

They both stood, and Hermione watched him walk quickly toward the bank of lifts, realising for the first time that she cared more deeply for Draco Malfoy than she would have ever, ever thought possible.

**Author's Note: Whew! I promise there's a nice lemon headed your way… nights at the opera can put you in a mood, if you know what I mean… ;)**


	12. Die Zauberflöte

Pamina was sleeping.

Hermione watched in wonder as Monostatos approached her and gazed upon her, his eyes ablaze with something she'd seen before. Want. Desire. Admiration. Something so much deeper. Monostatos wanted Pamina back, but he couldn't have her. She didn't want him back. He sang to her, an aria of self-deprecation and longing.

Hermione could feel eyes upon her, and when she turned her face, she realised that Draco wasn't watching the opera at all. She smiled a tiny bit at him and whispered,

"Are you bored?"

"No," he whispered back, shaking his head. "Mesmerised."

Hermione's cheeks went very warm then. She'd dressed up properly for the opera tonight. She'd worn a floor-length sheath gown in burgundy sequins, long-sleeved with a plunging neckline that she'd accented with a triangular golden pendant. She wore gold triangle earrings, too. She looked a proper Gryffindor when it came to colour, she knew. She'd tamed her hair into a French twist at the back of her head with a few strands carefully curling down around her face. She'd lined her eyes with thick black kohl and had worn lipstick of the deepest red to match her gown. She was glamour tonight, she knew, and she'd really tried. She'd never focused much on her appearance, but it was fun to feel pretty every now and then, and tonight she did feel very pretty.

"Draco." Hermione stared at him, watching out of the corner of her eye as Monostatos approached the object of his desire on the stage. Draco's blue eyes seemed almost warm then. He wasn't staring at Hermione's chest. He wasn't staring at her waist. He was studying her face, the lines and planes of it. His gaze was soft, almost gentle.

The Queen of the Night began singing the most famous opera in Mozart's repertoire, and Hermione tore her eyes away from Draco. Every once in a while she glanced over to him to see that he seemed genuinely impressed. Hermione listened to the soprano expertly touch at Mozart's ridiculous high notes, and she remembered the fine dinner they'd had before coming to the opera. Duck with cherry reduction, roast potato with shallot, brussels sprouts… lots of Apothic Red wine.

They'd talked about everything. They'd talked about the way that Draco's father had been so disgusted with him that he'd claimed he no longer had a son, about how Narcissa still sent Draco owls every now and then out of desperation. They talked about how Dolohov, Travers, Rookwood and others were rotting away in Azkaban. They couldn't help laughing a little at the thought of Dolores Umbridge in pink-and-white striped inmate attire - ludicrous, they knew, but somehow amusing.

They'd talked about how Hermione had gone to Australia, searching high and low for dentists by the name of Granger. She'd found them in Melbourne, living under the delusion that they had no child. She'd brought them home and watched as every memory flooded back into their minds. Draco had told Hermione that it was damned impressive for her to be able to perform such magic.

They'd discussed the duck they were eating, the soft rain outside, the way that this particular opera had become so famous among Muggles, the re-emergence of rock music in the Magical world after Voldemort's fall. They'd talked and talked and talked as if it were the easiest thing in all the world to do. It had felt easy. He had been his sarcastic self through it all, peppering in snarky comments here and there and smirking incessantly. But Hermione liked it. She liked  _him_.

When the curtain fell on Act Two, after Sarastro announced the Sun's triumph over darkness, Hermione flew to her feet and applauded with the rest of the audience. Draco clapped, too, but his eyes turned again to Hermione, and he asked through the din of the applause,

"Will you come home with me tonight?"

"Yes," Hermione answered at once, not hesitating for a moment to reply. The applause faded and the crowd began to clear out. Hermione held her gold satin clutch in one hand and Draco's fingers in the other. They made their way out of the opulent Royal Opera House and out onto the sweet cool relief of the sidewalk. Draco led them to a quiet spot a ways down the road, and Hermione gasped as she was wrenched by Side-Along Apparition.

When they came to, they were inside Draco's bedroom in Kensington. Hermione gave him a rather serious look and set her clutch down on the bench at the end of his elegant bed.

"Well, this was presumptuous of you," she scolded him. "Bringing us straight into your -"

He quieted her by taking her face in his hands and touching his lips to hers. He asked softly,

"Have you enchanted this lipstick to stay put, or am I going to have burgundy colouring smeared all over my face?"

Hermione laughed a little and assured him,

"I've charmed it, as any witch worth her salt knows to do."

"Good." He kissed her again, and Hermione remembered the first time she'd kissed him, when she had  _not_ charmed her red lipstick, when he'd wound up with it all over him. But he kissed her so carefully now that he probably wouldn't have made a mess anyway. One of his arms snared around the back of Hermione's dress and pulled down at the zip. Hermione shut her eyes and listened to the low, slow grind of the zip descending, and she tried to keep her breath steady as she stepped out of the elaborate gown. She pulled her wand from her Expanded clutch and Conjured a hanger, Banishing the gown to dangle over the edge of Draco's bathroom door. He cocked up an eyebrow at her and noted,

"Clever. You've always been so damned clever, haven't you?"

"I've tried," Hermione whispered, setting her wand down. She let Draco unclasp her bra and pull it away, let him push down the hem of her satin knickers, which she stepped out of along with her black ballet flats. Suddenly she was naked and he was still in his elegant black suit, and she murmured,

"You should take your clothes off."

"I mean to exercise some degree of self-control this time, and being mostly clothed will probably help." Draco seemed very serious, but Hermione didn't know what he meant. She watched him carefully take off his suit jacket and his tie and hang them in his wardrobe, and he kicked off his dress shoes. He jerked his chin toward the bed and asked,

"Will you lie down?"

"All right." Hermione frowned a little and made her way to the bed, climbing up and leaning back against the pillows. She was very nervous all of a sudden, especially when Draco - still in his white dress shirt and black trousers - came slithering up onto the bed with her. He slowly parted her legs and asked,

"When's the last time someone used his mouth on you, Granger?"

She smirked, her heart accelerating, and she shook her head.

"Never."

"Stupid boy." Draco shook his head, and Hermione knew he meant Ron. Draco stared between Hermione's legs, making her feel very self-conscious, and his breath audibly quickened. She watched his narrow throat bob, and he admitted, "I've never done this, so please tell me if I'm making you miserable."

"I'm very certain you won't make me miserable," Hermione said. Then, sensing absolute terror from him, she whispered, "Come here, Draco."

He leaned down toward her, his lips hovering a hair's breadth from hers. She reached up and messed up his hair, making his pale brows furrow with frustration, and she laughed a little. She pulled a lock of hair in front of his face, down his forehead, and she told him,

"Even when I wanted to spend all day every day Hexing you into oblivion, Draco Malfoy, you were devastatingly handsome."

"Oh, well, thanks." Draco licked his bottom lip and curled up the left half of his mouth. Then he kissed Hermione once, gently, and informed her in a whisper, "I want to feel you come. Not from a spell. I want to… I want you to…"

"Yes, please," Hermione interrupted him. She reached up to hold his face and sensed heat on his cheeks. She touched their lips together again and promised him, "I'm not going to criticise you. I'm no more an expert on receiving anything than you are on giving anything. I promise I'll reciprocate sometime."

"Mmph." Draco seemed to like the idea of that very much. He sat back up and arranged himself between Hermione's legs again. He urged her to bend her knees, and for a long moment, he just stared at her whilst he stroked at her thighs. His fingers moved like ten dancers, gliding smoothly up the inside, along sensitive skin. He was more firm and grasping near her hips. Hermione tipped her head back a little and gasped softly. This felt good. This already felt very, very good. She felt herself go sopping wet between her legs, and her hands found purchase on the blankets. She wrenched her eyes shut, unable for some reason to keep them open.

She felt Draco's fingers dust over her entrance, and he hummed with delight at the feel of being able to spread the slick evidence of her arousal around. The pad of his middle finger explored her folds, inside and out, and then dipped inside of her and curled.

"Draco!" Hermione's back arched up a little, and her eyes flew open. His pale gaze went wide and round, and he edged another finger inside of her. His thumb flicked a little at her clitoris, and Hermione growled as she insisted, "Oh, please, please,  _please_  do what you said you were going to do."

Draco tipped his head. "What was it that I said I was going to do again? Oh, yes. I think I said I was going to make you…"

He descended then, sliding down onto his stomach and smirking up at her from between her legs.

"Come. I think I said I was going to make you come, didn't I?"

"Draco." Hermione was desperate now. The throb between her legs was so strong that she could hardly breathe. She watched Draco grind his hips against the bed, humping it a little as he continued to use his fingers to play. She knew he must be feeling powerful arousal, too, and his back heaved with his quick breath.

He pulled his hand from Hermione's soaked entrance and put it straight to her bare breast, massaging and pinching a little as his face moved nearer to the place that was screaming for him. When at last his lips brushed along the length of Hermione's entrance, his hand tightened on her breast, and she thought she might have screamed. His tongue ventured from his mouth and lathed all the way from bottom to top, and then he sucked on her clit in a way that made Hermione's fingers cinch hard on the blankets. She tried not to squirm, which was a useless endeavour. He moved his hand all over her breast, his other one holding her hip steady, and suddenly his face was completely buried in her. His tongue was curling, licking, sliding. His lips were kissing, pulling, pressing. He was suckling; his nose was nuzzling at her. It was so much,  _so_  much, and Hermione could feel a climax barreling at her like a freight train.

All of a sudden his cycling hips stopped, and his hands squeezed her thigh and breast so tightly that it hurt a little. Draco moaned loudly against Hermione's entrance, the buzz of his voice sending a wonderful vibration along the lips and nub that he was pleasuring. She knew at once what had happened; he'd driven himself straight over the edge by doing this to her. His hands started to shake on her a little, and for some reason, the thought of Draco Malfoy having come in his trousers because of using his mouth on her was too much to bear.

He dutifully started to lick and suck again, but she was so far gone herself that it only took another little moment before her body snapped like a wire. Her ears rang hot, her vision blurred for a moment, and her skin prickled from head to toe. She could feel the way Draco's lips and tongue were around and inside of her as she clamped down erratically, and his hands went back to stroking her thighs as he groaned against her once more.

Once the searing white pleasure faded a little, Hermione managed to breathe normally and stare at the ceiling for a moment. Draco slowly sat up, and when she turned her eyes to him, he looked so attractive that her breath left her again. His blond hair was a complete disaster. His lips were opalescent, shining with her fluids and swollen from the gusto with which he'd devoured her most intimate place. His high cheekbones were pink, and he raked his fingers through his hair as he whispered,

"I apologise, but I… I sort of…"

"I know." Hermione smiled a bit and flicked her eyes down to the wet spot on the top of one trouser leg. Draco glanced down at his fingers, dragged his tongue over his lip and shuddered, and he said,

"I should… we should both probably take showers. Or else we can just Scour… I dunno."

"You go first," Hermione said gently. She shifted a little where she lay and gave him a weak little smile. "I could use a few moments to recover a bit, anyway. Thank you, by the way."

Draco nodded silently and climbed slowly from the bed. He walked into his bathroom, snatching his wand from beside his wardrobe, and he lit the lanterns on the wall inside. He turned then and gave Hermione a heavy look before he informed her,

"Hermione Granger, I don't suppose I have ever felt about another person what I feel about you. I don't have… I'm not sure how best to word it. I'm not as clever as you when it comes to words. You know that. But you should also know that… that I was very, very glad to go to dinner and the opera tonight with you, and that I think you are remarkably attractive, and that you set me afire in a way I didn't think was possible."

Hermione's eyes burned a little, and all she could do was give him one silent nod. Draco drummed his fingers on the threshold of his bathroom door, and he said,

"Since the end of the war, I've been very alone. I didn't think I minded, Hermione, but now that you're around… well, if I were that alone again, I think I'd mind very much."

Hermione shook her head and insisted, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm going to stay the night, Draco. I'm going to sleep all tangled up with you like we're knotted strings. And I'll touch your scar, carefully and gently, and you'll touch mine, and we'll be alone together until everyone else is willing to join us in the movement. And in the meantime, I would not mind one bit if you considered me… if you said that we… were together, you know?"

He smiled then, in a way that he very rarely did, and he nodded enthusiastically. Then he glanced down at his sullied trousers, started to shut the bathroom door, being mindful of Hermione's hanging gown, and he said,

"I'll be quick in the shower."

**Author's Note: Just some fluff n' smut to get us all through Christmas! Ha! The next few days are CHAOS for me, so there's no way I'll be able to write again until after the holiday. In the meantime, if you want to give me an extra-special Christmas present, please leave a review. Haha. Have a wonderful holiday if you're celebrating, and thanks for reading!**


	13. Construo Cosmos

" _Construo Cosmos… Nebuleffio… Construo Cosmos… Dissipio Stellae… Dissipio Stellae… Construo Cosmos…"_

Hermione set her wand down slowly on the table beside Draco's bed and stared upward. She smiled a little at what she'd done, and she reached for Draco's hand beneath the blankets. He made a soft little noise, and she reached to stroke at his bare arm. He'd come to bed shirtless, in only black flannel pyjama trousers, after washing up in the shower. Hermione had put on one of his long-sleeved shirts for layering and her knickers.

For some reason, sleeping in his shirt made her happy. The sleeves were too long, but, even clean, it smelled like him. Cedarwood and a hint of peppermint. Clean and dignified.

She should hate him, Hermione knew, but she absolutely did not hate him. She stroked his arm again and whispered,

"Draco, I've made something for you?"

"Hmph…" Draco rolled toward Hermione a little and blinked his eyes open a bit. He yawned a little and squeezed at her hand. "What's wrong?"

"Look up," Hermione told him. Draco frowned but rolled onto his back, and then his full lips parted.

Hermione lay beside him, still holding his hand, and she said,

"I think this is how they do it at Hogwarts. Haven't worked out the real-time weather changes or anything, but…"

"It's brilliant." Draco sounded awed as he stared up at the bedroom ceiling that Hermione had enchanted. Gone was the visual limit of the ceiling, replaced by the endless abyss of space. Shimmering stars, distant galaxies, colourful nebulae… they were gazing up at the heavens, created by Hermione when she'd woken with an idea.

"How… how do you do things like this?" Draco gazed up at the beautiful sight above them. Before Hermione could ask what he meant, he specified, "Those coins you made for Dumbledore's Army. Hexing Potter, having the presence of mind to do that, so the Snatchers wouldn't recognise him. The way you duelled in battle, the way you can expertly Obliviate and repair memories. This… this work of art you've made. How? How do you do this?"

He tipped his head toward her, and Hermione felt overcome by him all of a sudden. She shook her head a little and said self-deprecatingly,

"I just use my want and cast spells. That's all."

"I am sorry," Draco said, and before Hermione could insist that they were through with apologies, he continued, "I am sorry for buying into the ludicrous notion that the magic of a Pureblood was somehow better than the magic of a Muggle-born. Because you, Hermione Granger, are the most talented witch in the entire world, I think, and your parents use metal tools to fix teeth."

Hermione laughed a little, but her smile faded when she felt his thumb drag over the slightly raised scar on her wrist.  _Mudblood_. His eyes welled in the twinkling light from above them, and he said sincerely,

"I wish it had been you to kill her and not Molly Weasley."

Bellatrix, he meant. Hermione shook her head and insisted, "Mrs Weasley had earned it. And, anyway, I don't want to kill anybody. I've never wanted to kill anybody."

"You did give me a very good punch to the nose," Draco reminded her, and Hermione reached to brush her knuckles over his cheekbone.

"Good thing I didn't do any damage. It'd be a hell of a face to muck up."

"Hermione." Draco pushed himself up onto one elbow then, and he stared up at the slowly moving stars and galaxies and nebulae that Hermione had created. He kept his eyes up at the ceiling as he asked, "Did you mean it? What you said last night, about us being… you know, together?"

"Yes." Hermione left it at that. Draco kept staring up, until finally he lowered his eyes to her and said in a careful, quiet voice,

"I'm a little afraid of what you make me feel. You might accuse me of being easily frightened, and I suppose I've been a coward many times over the years. But you, Granger… you terrify me more than anything else in my entire life."

Hermione frowned and sat up. "Why?"

He took her face in his hands and then dragged his fingers through the French twist that she'd released into messy waves. He studied her eyes and then her lips, and he touched his mouth gently to hers before he whispered,

"Because as much as I've spent years whinging about  _telling my father_  or bragging about who I knew, I always felt like others were accessories or means to an end. Not necessities. Nobody else was really necessary. Nobody else actually meant anything, at least not anything significant. Not until you, and you feel very necessary. Very significant."

Hermione couldn't control the way one tear boiled up in her left eye then. She let Draco brush it away as she eyed the pale pink Dark Mark on the inside of his left wrist. She glanced up at the cosmos she'd made, and then she lowered her eyes to him and said,

"I've needed people my whole life, for a lot of reasons. But I have never felt my heart race and my breath catch over anybody else. I've never… I've never  _wanted_  someone like this, Draco. Not just what you did to me last night - which was amazing, I should point out - but things like dinner. Things like lunch at the Ministry. Pizza. Wine. Terrible films and amazing operas. I  _want_  to be together with you. I want people to know that I'm together with you, not because of politics, but because you make me happy and I'm utterly unashamed of that. Now, please, will you kiss me?"

He answered by pressing his lips to hers, and she opened her mouth at once to let him in. They both tasted of sleep, but no one seemed to care. They slowly lay back down and Draco pulled the blankets over them. Hermione moved her lips to Draco's neck, and he huffed a breath as she reached between them. He was going hard, she could feel. She gave him a questioning look, but he insisted,

"I just want to hold you. That sounds childish, doesn't it?"

"No." Hermione rolled away from him and then backed up until he could wrap his arms around her. After a long moment, the firmness in his pyjama trousers faded, and he laced his scarred left arm over her scarred left arm. He laced their fingers together and whispered,

"This is the most beautiful night sky I've ever seen. I reckon you'd have to be an astronaut like the one in that awful film in order to see something like this. I doubt you could see it from Earth. All the damned electric lights."

"Before Muggles filled the world with electricity," Hermione noted, "there was no light pollution, and even in the largest cities, you could see the Milky Way cast across the sky."

She stared up at the stars and galaxies she'd crafted, and she admitted,

"The Muggle world does not deserve to be destroyed, but it is far from perfect."

"Nothing's perfect," Draco mumbled, "though my bedroom ceiling right now comes damned close."

Hermione smiled a little and watched as his fingers dragged over her knuckles. He used his right hand to push her hair aside, and he kissed the skin below her ear as he whispered,

"I bought you a birthday gift."

"You did?" Hermione turned her face a little. "My birthday isn't for weeks."

Draco smirked. "Oh, I've got plans for you, Granger. All sorts of plans. Gourmet meal, beautiful gift… the sort of thing I did to you last night and then some…"

"Draco." Hermione laughed and turned her face away again, soaking in the warm feel of his breath against her hair and neck. She stared up at the heavens she'd made with her wand and absorbed the sensation of Draco snared around her.

He was hers now, and she was his.

If she'd told her third-year self that someday she'd be in bed with Draco Malfoy, fingers tangled, talking of birthday gifts, she'd have punched her own damned self in the face. If she'd told herself even two years earlier that she'd be wearing Draco Malfoy's shirt in his bed after he'd brought her to paradise with his mouth, she would have thought it was some sort of trick, some sort of terrible joke.

But this wasn't a joke. And as much as Ron and Harry couldn't bring themselves to forgive Draco, Hermione had reached the point where she could make all sorts of excuses for what he'd done as a brainwashed child. The wizard tucked behind her was a different man than the boy she'd loathed.

She liked this wizard.

She…

No. Not yet.

Hermione sighed and asked him,

"Do you have nightmares?"

"From the whispers, you mean," Draco murmured. There was a long pause, and he admitted, "Only very occasionally. I don't know those people. I have loads of nightmares, but they're about other things. Used to be seeing people fall, seeing people die. Now I dream about my mother asking me if it was you, if it was  _the Granger girl_ , and I said yes."

"You hesitated," Hermione pointed out, turning her hand over and staring at both of their scars. "You said  _yeah, maybe_. You didn't want to turn us over, did you?"

"I didn't want to, but I did, in a way. And then I was out in the courtyard, and I heard… I heard you screaming. It was the most wretched sound in all the world."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. She could still feel the digging, searing, awful pain of Bellatrix's torture, the way she'd been deliberate messy and haphazard in carving the word  _Mudblood_  into Hermione's arm.

"I have nightmares about it, too," she admitted. "But then I remember that the war is over, and that we won. And you're on the right side now, Draco."

"I need to tell you something." There was a sudden urgency in his voice, a sense of desperation that made Hermione turn slowly to face him. She glanced up once more at the ceiling as she did, seeing that her creation was fading a little, that the ceiling was coming back into view. She faced Draco and asked him,

"What's the matter?"

"Hermione." His pale eyes seemed afraid all of a sudden, and he cupped her jaw in his hand. The twinkling light from above was evaporating; her Conjured work was diminishing. Draco's face was barely visible in the darkness, and once the last bit of light from Hermione's enchantments gave way to inky black, Draco murmured,

"I'm not sure I could ever actually understand what it is, much less feel it. I'm not sure I'm a… a good enough person for it."

Love, he meant. Hermione's heart started to thrum insistently in her chest, and her breath hitched inside her throat.

"And, anyway," Draco was continuing, "it hasn't been very long. Definitely not long enough for… anyway, I need you to know that I wasn't having a nightmare before you woke me up. I was dreaming of you, but it wasn't a nightmare."

"Was I reading a book again?" Hermione asked, trying frantically to break the tension. Draco was silent. He brushed his lips against Hermione's and whispered against her mouth,

"I didn't realise, Hermione, what it could be to feel alive like this. And the dreams I have of you… I want them to be real. I want you to be real for me. I want to be real for you."

"This is real," Hermione said gently, kissing him again and curling up against his chest as he rolled onto his back. "We are real, Draco. You. Me. Our past and our present. Some sort of future, whatever it may be. It's all real. I'm not going anywhere. Are you?"

"No." He stroked carefully at her hair, and a very long silence followed. Hermione could hear his breath, steady at first and then shaking and shallow. "Hermione."

"What's the matter?" Hermione pressed her palm to his chest and brushed her lips against his shoulder. "What's wrong, Draco?"

"I may be wrong," he said. "I may not understand. I may have absolutely no idea what I'm talking about, but something inside of me is screaming it, a drum pounding out the idea of it being true, and I…"

More silence then, and Hermione just kept stroking his chest as she waited for him to speak again. Finally Draco stammered,

"I don't… I can't… it hasn't been long enough, and we hated one another long enough, but I… I think that I…"

"Draco." Hermione pushed herself up onto her elbow and let her hair fall down around her face and onto Draco's chest. She brushed her fingers along his collarbone and whispered, "Just tell me."

Draco huffed a loud breath, and Hermione "You're brilliant, and you've got the best interests of even your enemies in mind, and I enjoy my time with you, and I think you're very beautiful, and so I can't help thinking that I -"

"Draco, no." Hermione bent to kiss his cheekbone, and she whispered near his ear, "You don't have to say this. What we are is enough, and -"

"I'm falling in love with you, Granger," Draco said harshly, his voice a rough bark. Hermione reached quickly for her wand and whispered,

" _Lumos_."

In the blue-white light of her wand, Draco's face was like a marble statue with piercing sapphire eyes. He stared up at her in the gently pulsing light, nodded, and said,

"I can't help it. Not one bit. And as stupid as it sounds, as entirely-too-soon as it seems, the reality is that I had a crush on you for years and just didn't feel like I was allowed to have it. And now I have you with me, at lunch and dinner, at the cinema and the opera. In my bed. And so now I know, and I don't care if I sound like a blithering bloody fool. I'm falling in love with you, Granger."

"Hermione," she whispered, staring down at Draco in the light of her wand. He licked his lips slowly and replied,

"Hermione."

" _Nox._ " Hermione snuffed out her wand and set it back down, and she arranged herself with her back to him, encouraging him to thread his arm around her again. She remembered the sound of his voice…  _you filthy little Mudblood. You're next, Mudbloods._  She could see the snarl on his face at her misfortune, the way he'd taunted and mocked and endangered her and her friends for years. And then she felt the wizard behind her, the man he'd grown to become - someone who was desperately trying to atone for past wrongs and to build a more noble future, a future where he was part of the solution and not part of the problem.

Could she ever love him? This Draco, the one who had called her into a private room in the Leaky Cauldron to apologise with no expectation of forgiveness… could she ever love him? The wizard who had laughed with her over roast duck and chatted with her about mundanities, the one who had cooked them spaghetti bolognese. The wizard who always cared if she finished, if she was satisfied, if things felt good for her. The wizard with his fingers shaking against hers, his breath panting softly against her neck… could she ever love him?

"Goodnight, Draco," Hermione whispered, and he just replied,

"Night, Granger."

**Author's Note: Is Draco right about what he's feeling? Is it just that years of wanting Hermione and feeling like she was forbidden fruit, combined with some good quality time together, have made him fall in love? Or is he misinterpreting his emotions? Coming up in the next few chapters, we'll see Hermione's new House-Elf welfare act signed into law by Kingsley, we'll see Harry/Ron/Ginny react to Draco and Hermione being a public couple, and we'll find out if Hermione can just let Draco do his job without trying to find the whispering boy's mother.**

**I did manage to find an hour to write on Christmas Eve, but I'll be spending the next few days after Christmas at my lake house, and likely won't be writing until around the 30th. I do greatly appreciate your patience. If I can pepper in a chapter here and there, I will. In the meantime, I am immensely grateful for any and all feedback, and to those who are celebrating, a VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS!**


	14. The Dobby the House-Elf Regulations Against Corporal Punishment

"Miss Hermione Granger, with this signature, I officially make into binding law this legislation - the Dobby the House-Elf Regulations Against Corporal Punishment. I thank you very heartily for your dedication to the well-being of House-Elves in the service of Wizarding families."

Kingsley Shacklebolt put his quill to the parchment before him, signing each of the ten pages on his desk. Hermione grinned like mad where she stood beside him, and the photographer from the  _Daily Prophet_  said,

"Can I get a quick smile, Minister? Miss Granger?"

Hermione inched closer to Kingsley and said through the clenched teeth of a smile,

"Thank you, Minister."

There was a bright flash, and Kingsley put the parchments into a folder as he said sincerely,

"It's a good law, Hermione. You're doing good things. The ceiling for you in this Ministry doesn't exist. You'll do great things for wizardkind."

"Miss Granger, if I might get a few quick words from you?" Arden Colporter, the aging reporter for the  _Daily Prophet,_  shoved her spectacles up her crooked nose. When Hermione nodded, striding across the spacious Minister for Magic's office, Arden asked, "Why is it so important to you that House-Elves not receive corporal punishment?"

"Well," Hermione said, "growing up in the Muggle world, I knew nothing of House-Elves. When I learnt how much labour they put into daily life at Hogwarts, I was alarmed. And when I saw first-hand the way that caring, kind House-Elves were mistreated, I became determined that they be given more respect. That's why I founded the S.P.E.W. as a Hogwarts student, and it's why I was so happy to get my position here at the Ministry."

"And what's next?" Arden asked. "Will you now turn your attentions to Squib rights?"  
"In the immediate future, certainly," Hermione nodded. She hesitated, and then said, "My long-term goal is to help facilitate reconciliation between the two sides of the war that we're still healing from. The ones who sided with Voldemort, and the ones who fought against him. To move forward, we'll all need to find enough common ground to live and work together, in some semblance of harmony."

Arden Colporter looked very surprised, and from his desk, Kingsley Shacklebolt said cautiously,

"Thank you, Miss Colporter. I think that will be -"

"Is it true that you are dating Draco Malfoy, the son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, himself a former Death Eater and the sworn enemy of the Golden Trio during your school years?"

Hermione's stomach flopped. Behind her, Kingsley said in a deep rumble,

"You don't have to answer that, Hermione."

"Yes, it's true," Hermione said at once. "Draco's family owned a House-Elf called Dobby. Harry Potter freed Dobby through a bit of benign trickery, and Dobby became one of our closest friends and allies. He was murdered by Bellatrix Lestrange whilst helping us escape Malfoy Manor. This legislation is named in Dobby's honour. And, yes, it's true that Draco Malfoy and I are together, because he and I are living proof that real reconciliation is possible - guilt, atonement, sorrow, forgiveness… affection. Yes, I'm dating Draco Malfoy."

"Hermione," Kingsley said in a warning voice, but Hermione whirled round and said rather sharply,

"You're right, Minister. I think that will be enough, Miss Colporter. Minister Shacklebolt, thank you so much for signing into law these incredibly important regulations. I am so grateful to see physical security become the new normal for House-Elves everywhere. Good day, Miss Colporter. Minister Shacklebolt."

* * *

"I'll get it, Mum!" Hermione dashed down the stairs to the front door before remembering that her parents had gone to a matinee at the cinema and weren't even home. She flung the door open and froze, for Harry Potter and Ron Weasley stood before her. They both looked more than a little irritated, though Ron looked like he'd been crying for hours.

"May we come in, please?" Harry asked sharply, and Hermione held the door open for them. She led them into the sitting-room and asked softly,

"Shall I make tea?"

"You've seen this morning's  _Daily Prophet_ , I assume?" Harry shoved a copy at her, ignoring the question about tea. Hermione sank onto her mother's cream-coloured sofa and read the lead story on the newspaper, which was located beneath a photo of her smiling with Kingsley Shacklebolt.

_HERMIONE GRANGER, WAR HEROINE, ACCOMPLISHES HOUSE-ELF RULES, SETS SIGHTS ON MAKING PEACE WITH FORMER DEATH EATERS._

_Hermione Granger, the war heroine known for being instrumental in the downfall of Lord V-, stood in Minister Shacklebolt's office with a grin of sheer delight as the Minister signed into law Miss Granger's draughted rules intended to protect House-Elves from corporal punishment of all kinds._

_There is no doubt that Miss Granger's role as Deputy Director Of House-Elf and Squib Welfare has made such legislation possible. But when pressed on her future goals, Miss Granger hovered for only a moment on Squib welfare before insisting that her 'long-term goal is to facilitate reconciliation' between former supporters and soldiers of Lord V- and those who fought against him._

_This reporter was shocked to hear Miss Granger herself confirm that she is in a relationship with an apparently reformed Death Eater, Mr Draco Malfoy. When pressed, Miss Granger insisted that her relationship with Mr Malfoy is evidence that atonement and forgiveness are possible. 'Yes,' she said, 'I'm dating Draco Malfoy.'_

_The Daily Prophet has no doubt whatsoever that Miss Granger played a pivotal role in seeing Lord V- defeated once and for all, and her House-Elf regulations are noble and well-intentioned. But we will be watching carefully to see what this third of the Golden Trio has in mind when it comes to playing nice with former Death Eaters._

Hermione set the newspaper down and scowled.

"She barely even mentioned the legislation. She was there to cover… she didn't even name it! She didn't discuss Dobby at all."

"Hermione." Ron's voice cracked terribly, and when Hermione looked up, she confirmed in her mind that he had been crying. Fresh tears formed in his eyes, and he shook his head.

"You left me, our relationship, because of Draco Malfoy? That son of a -"

"We mutually ended our relationship because you and I have very different views on what the future should look like," Hermione said firmly, "and because you were not open to the idea of forgiving Draco, no matter how sorry he was."

"There are some things you can't forgive, Hermione," Harry pointed out. "He Cursed Katie and poisoned Ron, and -"

"That wasn't on purpose!" Hermione exclaimed. "He was trying to kill Dumbledore, and he didn't even want to do that! He'd been ordered by Voldemort. His family had been shamed and tortured because he wasn't able to do it, to kill Dumbledore, and in the very end, he still couldn't do it. He didn't mean to Curse Katie or poison Ron!"

"Come off it!" Ron flew to his feet, his fists balled at his sides. "Look at your left arm, Hermione. What word does it say there?  _Mudblood_. The word he threw at you over and over again. You forgive him for that?"

"It's my right to forgive him for using a slur he was trained to use," Hermione said defensively from where she sat. "Many people have horrible upbringings and have to grow out of the hatred. It takes a very big person to not only recognise the wickedness of what they were taught to believe, but to stop believing it."

"You think he's a big person, do you?" Ron snarled. "Bet he feels real big inside of your cunny."

"Ronald Weasley!" Hermione shot up to stand and slapped Ron as hard as she could. He looked shocked, and Harry looked helpless as he carefully pulled Hermione's wrist away.

"Right. We should go," Harry said. Hermione wrenched her wrist from his hand and gave both boys the most vicious glares she could. She picked up the copy of the  _Daily Prophet_  and shoved it into Harry's hands.

"Get out of this house, the both of you. You're both too immature to move beyond your own prejudices to realise some people grow out of theirs. How dare you, Ron, say something like that to me? How dare you? Get out. Get  _out_."

They'd moved toward the door, and Hermione shoved both boys' chests until they stumbled backward onto the step. She slammed the door shut and wrenched the deadbolt so hard she nearly broke it. She turned her back to the door and sobbed, sinking down to sit as she cried and cried and cried.

* * *

"I was wondering when you'd come."

Draco stepped aside so Hermione could come in. She said nothing for a very long moment. Draco cleared his throat and shut the door.

"I'm assuming that your eyes are nearly swollen shut because you've been crying, and I'm assuming you've been crying because of Potter and Weasley reacting to the  _Daily Prophet_ article." Draco pinched his lips, and Hermione said darkly,

"I did not come here for you to foul-mouth the only two friends I had for seven consecutive years."

"All right," Draco said simply, and Hermione was surprised. She stepped out of her flat black shoes and stepped closer to Draco. She breathed in and smelled something warm and soothing.

"You're cooking."

"Just chicken and roast potato. There'll be plenty for us both, if you'll stay." Draco shifted on his feet and pushed his hands into his pockets. He scuffed his foot on the ground and stared at his toes as he said, "You know, I was angry that the  _Prophet_  didn't even mention his name. Dobby's name. It was important to you that the legislation be named after him, and all they cared about what making you look bad. It's good legislation, and they ought to have focused on that."

"Oh. Draco." Hermione's eyes burned, but she was all out of tears. She let him wrap her up in her arms, and she breathed in the warm scent of him as she admitted against his chest, "My bag's Expanded and I've brought toiletries and pyjamas and a change of clothes for tomorrow."

There was a little pause, and then Draco said, "That makes me happy. You make me happy."

"Do I?" Hermione raised her swollen eyes to him, and Draco nodded silently. He licked his bottom lip and told her quietly,

"Nobody's ready except for us. They all need so much more time."

"I should have just told her I was looking forward to doing my job," Hermione moaned quietly. Draco chewed his lip and asked,

"May I recommend something?"

"I suppose," Hermione said begrudgingly, and Draco said,

"Draught up a really solid piece of Squib rights legislation. Something, for example, like making registration optional so Squibs can live among Muggles without Ministry of Magic intervention. Then focus all the attention on that work, and don't discuss the idea of reconciliation again. Not publicly. No one else is ready. They may need a few… a few  _years_ , Hermione. War isn't a paper cut; it's a gaping bloody wound, and healing isn't simple. You're too logical for them to go along with you."

"And you?" Hermione asked. "Are you too logical?"  
"No." Draco shook his head. "I'm just a wizard who made all the wrong choices and is determined to do better. That's all. I'm just a wizard who… a wizard who cares very much for you, Hermione Jean Granger. The chicken and potatoes need another forty-five minutes, and I'd like to use that time making love to you, if you don't mind."

Hermione curled her lips up and shook her head a little. "I don't mind."

**Author's Note: Found a tiny bit of time on Christmas Day to squeeze in just a little writing! I'll save the big juicy lemon for the next chapter. ;) If you're reading, thank you SO MUCH for doing so, and if you're celebrating, a VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS to you. Please do be kind enough to leave a review if you get a moment.**


	15. Alone Together

**Author’s Note: I only had twenty minutes to write tonight, so apologies for this somewhat short chapter. In the next chapter, Real Live Dramatic Plot continues!**

 

Hermione stared at the ceiling, tears streaming slowly down her cheeks.

“You don’t have to do…  _ we  _ don’t have to do anything,” Draco said. He stood beside the bed, his fingers frozen on the buttons of his white dress shirt. Hermione shook her head and turned her face to him, dusting her fingers over the lace trim on her black bra.

“Please,” she whispered, “please take your clothes off. Maybe I am alone, Draco, but I’m alone with you, aren’t I?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “You’re alone with me.” 

He peeled his dress shirt off and use his wand to Banish it to his wardrobe. He unbuttoned the placket of his dark grey trousers, and when he pulled them down with his black underwear, his half-hard cock was revealed. Hermione stared at it, wondering if it was rude to stare at a man’s cock like this.

She watched it grow a bit longer, a bit wider, as Draco kicked his trousers away. He joined her on the bed and settled beside her, rotating her body a little and wrapping one arm around her.

“Someday,” he whispered, kissing the place below her left ear, “I’m going to fuck you from behind. You’ll be on your hands and knees, and I’ll hold your hips so hard there will be bruises, and I’ll fuck you until you scream into the pillow.”

“Draco.” Hermione shut her eyes as he used one hand to unclasp her bra and push it down over her arm. He edged her knickers down and kissed her neck again, very carefully, and he murmured,

“Someday you’ll be on your knees with my cock so far down your throat that you gag. Someday I’ll spank you until your arse is pink. Someday you’ll tie my wrists to the bed and tease me until I come all over my own stomach.”

“Draco…  _ oh _ …” Hermione was sopping wet all of a sudden, and now that both she and Draco were naked, she wanted nothing more than contact from him. She felt him squeeze her breast, felt his hand trail down her stomach, and then his fingers nestled between her legs and he sighed against her neck. He thrust his erection against the small of her back and told her,

“Someday I’m going to use spells  _ and _ my mouth  _ and  _ my cock and make you come until you sob and beg me to stop, that it’s too much, that it feels too good.”

“Bloody hell, Draco.” Hermione bucked her hip against his hand, and then she felt him push her between her shoulder blades and edge her hips back, and then all of a sudden there was a ripping, pushing thrust. He had filled her, and he huffed beside her ear as his hand went back to her breast. He started to move, to cycle his hips and enter her slowly, and his thumb tweaked her nipple as he panted,

“Someday we’ll be rough, Hermione. But today I just want to be alone with you, and I want to make love to you; I don’t want to fuck you. And it’s because… oh…  _ oh _ …”

He quickened his hips, and his hand trailed back down to play with Hermione’s clit again. She shut her eyes and felt her lungs burn with how quickly she was bleeding. She tipped her head back as Draco latched his mouth onto her neck, and her back arched of its own accord.

Swelling, heat, throbbing, whirling. Noise in her ears and delicious, accelerating heartbeats, frantic breaths mingling. Blinding white heat. Clenching, cinching, pulsing. Coming, coming, coming. Hermione cried out so loudly that she was almost embarrassed, until she heard Draco say breathlessly,

“I wanted to make love to you because I’m in love with you, Granger.  _ Oh _ .”

He came too, then, just as hard as she’d done. He yanked her hips back against his pelvis, and she felt him swell up inside of her. She felt the pumping hot fluid of his pleasure, felt it leak back out between them, felt his puffs of shallow breath moving her hair beside her neck.

“Hermione,” he whispered, a raspy little whine vibrating against her skin. “Hermione, I can’t help it. I can’t…”

“Alone together,” she nodded, reaching back behind her shoulder and feeling that his cheek was as hot as flame. She kept her palm there, letting him stroke his hand up and down her side. Eventually he slipped out of her, his softened cock sliding out and flopping down between their bodies. Hermione was unashamed of any flaw she might have, all of a sudden. She didn’t mind the fact that she had a few little freckles that were really moles, or that her breasts were small, or that she had frizz in her hair. 

Suddenly all that mattered was the warmth of the skin pressed behind her. Suddenly all that mattered were the thin fingers drifting over the scar on her left wrist, the quiet voice whispering that she was clever, that she was doing good work, that she was beautiful and that he couldn’t help but love her.

“The chicken will burn,” Hermione mumbled after awhile, Draco sighed and pulled himself from the bed, silently pulling his clothes back on. Hermione did the same, not caring that his seed was in her knickers and drying on the inside of her thighs. She pulled on her denims and her purple flannel shirt, and she told Draco,

“You’re right, you know. I’ll have to shut up about the idea of reconciliation for some time. No one else is ready. But you’re ready. I’m ready. And I do want to tell you, Draco, that… that I…”

She watched him turn round, buttoning up his white shirt as he smirked a little and his pale blue eyes glistened almost sadly. Hermione gulped and whispered,

“I never expected in a million years to fall in love with the likes of you, but here were are.”

“Here were are,” Draco nodded. He licked his lip and tipped his head. “May I offer you some very mediocre dinner?”

 

* * *

 

“I’d like you to try and get those records,” Draco said an hour later, as they both sat with empty plates before them. Hermione frowned and set down her glass of white wine.

“The records. You mean from Kingsley? About little boys who have died?”

“Male, ages four to eight, past ten years. Died in an accident related to a broomstick. First name Philip.”

“Philip.” Hermione’s eyes watered, and she shook her head as she asked, “How do you know his name, Draco?”

Draco shut his eyes and lowered his face, touching his fingertips to his eyebrows. He sighed and said, “ _ It was my fault; I wasn’t meant to fly the broomstick. I’m so sorry to my Mummy for breaking the rules. Please, someone tell my Mummy that her little Philip is so sorry. So sorry. Please, tell my Mummy I ought to have followed the rules, that Philip is not frightened anymore. _ ”

Hermione pinched her lips and shut her eyes.

“You told me not to seek out the records, Draco. You told me you’d be sacked, that the records aren’t meant to be passed on.”

“I’m not going to pass on the records.” Draco raised his eyes to Hermione, his gaze sharp all of a sudden. “I’m just going to send her an owl, unsigned.  _ Philip says he is sorry about the broomstick and that he is no longer afraid. _ ”

“No.” Hermione shook her head and insisted, “I was wrong to suggest getting those records, Draco. You’ll just torture that poor mother; it isn’t as though she can send a message back.”

“He’s been begging me every damned day for months, Hermione!” Draco slammed his fist on the table, and his breath shook between his lips. He shook his head quickly. “No one else whispers pleas like that, not every day, not so insistently, so desperately. They’re almost never children. I can just record the others and move on. This one… this one’s killing me a little bit, Hermione. Every fucking day I hear this little boy begging me, pleading with me, to tell his mother that he’s sorry, that he’s all right. Every single fucking day, I… I hear him, and I make record after record, and all I’m allowed to do is ignore this little boy. I think… I think that if I pass his message along, he’ll move on. He’ll find peace.”

Hermione blinked a few times. “It’s important to you that this little boy find peace.”

“Well, of course it is.” Draco crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes watering. Hermione didn’t tell him that the old Draco wouldn’t have cared less about a child moving on from the place beyond the Veil. She didn’t tell him that the old Draco wouldn’t have considered risking his position to pass on a dead child’s message to his mother. 

“I’ll find out who he is,” Hermione promised. “I think I can do it a little more surreptitiously, too. I have direct access to records, more so than I’d realised.”

A sort of epiphany came over Draco’s face. 

“You file records for Squibs and House-Elves,” he noted. “So you can search birth and death records.”

“It’ll risk both our jobs,” Hermione noted, “because I’m not - strictly speaking - meant to go through birth and death records. But I  _ can _ , if you know what I mean. With these specific parameters, I’ll be able to find the boy’s identity quickly. I’ll Confound other people in the Records offices if I need to.”

“All I want to do is send an owl,” Draco said quietly. “Then, I think, he’ll move on, that little boy. I think he’ll… I think there’s peace somewhere. Most of the whispers only linger a little while, then they go quiet. They move on. This boy… I think his death was recent. Traumatic for him, for his mother. Please, Hermione, I just need a name. I just need someone to send a single owl to. Please.”

“Of course.” Hermione nodded vigorously. “And if we both get sacked?”

Draco smirked a little and shrugged. “I’ve still got some connections at shops in Knockturn Alley. Or, you know, you could be the receptionist for your Muggle dentist parents.”

Hermione smiled a little and poured herself a bit more white wine.

“I’ll go into the Records office on Monday.”

Draco nodded, dragging the pad of his thumb over the rim of his glass. “Thank you.”

  
**Author's Note: Thank you so much for those who have already give such enormously helpful feedback for this story thus far. It's incredible assistance as I make my Dramione debut, and more appreciated than I can say.**


	16. The Janus Thickey Ward

"Welcome to the Office of Registration and Records. How may I… oh, you're Hermione Granger!" The plump middle-aged witch working the office desk grinned up at Hermione, who smiled weakly back.

"Pleased to meet you, Ms… Neglum." She read the name off the plate on the desk. Ms Neglum folded her hands and asked,

"How might I be of assistance today, Miss Granger?"

"Well… as you know, I work for the pursuit of Squib and House-Elf welfare." Hermione plastered on a pleasant smile. "I'm afraid I can't reveal  _precisely_  why I need this record, but I'm looking for a specific death record. I have quite a lot of information; I'm just missing the surname and address."

"Oh! I can look that up for you without a problem, Miss Granger." Ms Neglum pulled out a thick leather ledger and opened it, dipping a solid silver quill into a well of strange-looking ink. "Please, if you can go ahead and give me any information you've got?"

"Right." Hermione felt very nervous all of a sudden, and she gulped as she said, "It's a little boy who's passed. Sometime in the last decade. Perhaps aged four to eight or nine? A little boy. He died in some sort of incident involving a broomstick. His first name was Philip."

Ms Neglum frowned deeply as she scratched information onto a form in the ledger, and when she raised her eyes to Hermione, she said sadly,

"How very tragic this sounds."

"Yes." Hermione drummed her fingers on the edge of the desk and said lightly, "Well, we're… you know, fighting for a better tomorrow, so…"

She trailed off, for Ms Neglum's face had shifted dramatically. She'd turned the page in her ledger, and when she raised her eyes again, she said very seriously,

"Little boy called Philip Malfoy, born 13 March 1991, died 12 October 1997." She stared at Hermione for an interminable moment, and Hermione knew at once that the the witch had read the  _Prophet_ article about Hermione's relationship with Draco. Ms Neglum cleared her throat, lowered her eyes, and read from the file that had materialised in the ledger. "Mother was a so-called 'Blood Traitor,' whose child Philip was the illegitimate offspring of a Muggle man. She was captured by Snatchers employed by the Ministry at the time. The boy, Philip, ran away from the Snatchers. The mother was positively identified as Aelia Malfoy by her estranged brother, Lucius Malfoy."

"Estranged," Hermione whispered. "When did they become estranged?"

"I do not have that information," snapped Ms Neglum. She turned her eyes back down and said sharply, "Aelia Malfoy was administered the Dementor's Kiss for her alleged crime of being a 'blood traitor,' and now resides in the Janus Thickey Ward of St Mungo's Hospital. As for little Philip Malfoy, he tried to escape the Snatchers by taking his mother's broomstick. He fell from an estimated height off two hundred metres and died on 12 October 1997; his body was recovered by Snatchers and Vanished, and his death was registered with the Ministry at the time."

Hermione's eyes watered. She raised her wand to aim it at Ms Neglum, who looked shocked. Hermione thought determinedly,  _Confundo._

As Ms Neglum vibrated and her brows knitted with confusion, Hermione quickly erased the writing from the records ledger, and she shut the book. She reinforced the Confundus Charm and then said very warmly,

"Thank you so much for getting those Squib records for me, Ms Neglum. I appreciate your help. It was so nice to meet you."

"It was very nice to meet you, Miss Granger." Ms Neglum grinned widely and waved as Hermione left the office. Her heart raced and her breath hitched in her throat as she made her way to the bank of lifts. She considered going to her own office and sending Draco an interdepartmental memo summoning him to her, but instead she pressed 9 inside the lift.

* * *

"You put me on the list of approved visitors," Hermione noted as Draco shut his office door behind them. He nodded and said,

"I knew you'd be looking for records today. Have you got an address where I can send an owl? I heard him again today…"

"Draco, I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated than all that," Hermione said, knitting her fingers together. She gestured to the chairs on opposite sides of Draco's desk and said, "Why don't we sit? Have you got any wine?"  
"Wine?" Draco scowled. He sank into his chair and demanded, "What's happened?"

"What do you know about your father's sister Aelia?"

Draco's face sank. He shook his head a little and admitted, "I've never met her. She was ten years younger than my father. She liked Muggles, my father said. She had a Muggle's bastard. Those were my father's words. That happened just before I went to Hogwarts. She was dead to the family, my parents said. Aelia was dead."

"She's not dead," Hermione murmured, staring at her lap. "She lives in St Mungo's in a permanent vegetative state, as a result of receiving a Dementor's Kiss. Her son, Philip Malfoy,  _is_  dead. All this happened in October of 1997."

"A Dementor's Kiss?" Draco's voice cracked a little. "Philip is… that little boy is my  _cousin_?"

Hermione raised her eyes, her tears flowing silently and unabated down her cheeks. "Your aunt Aelia was captured by Snatchers for the crime of having a son with a Muggle. That son was Philip. He tried to escape the Snatchers on a broomstick; he fell and died. Your father… Draco, your father Lucius identified his sisters to the Snatchers, and they administered the Dementor's Kiss to her. The boy's body was Vanished."

"My aunt… my cousin…" Draco sounded breathless, and he looked dizzy all of a sudden. His fingertips trembled as he touched his forehead. His pale blue eyes welled and glistened, and then one tear boiled over his bottom eyelid and tumbled over his cheek, and he whispered, "My father… that heartless, cruel, callous, frigid bastard. He saw his own sister's soul sucked out, knew his nephew got killed, all because… all because Philip's father was a Muggle… I can't… Hermione, I can't."

"Draco." Hermione reached across the desk for his hand, but he grabbed it away and dragged it through his hair, messing it up at once.

"How am I meant to pass his message along now?" Draco demanded, and suddenly he slammed his fist onto his desk. He was crying openly now, in a way Hermione would have never expected to see him do. His voice shook like the last leaf of autumn as he whispered, "How am I meant to tell my Aunt Aelia that her little boy isn't afraid anymore if her soul's been taken away? How can he move beyond the Veil? How can I… I have to quit. Hermione, I have to quit. I can't do this job anymore; I have to go torture my father until he -"

"No. No, no,  _no._  You won't talk like that." Hermione flew to her feet and dashed around the other side of the desk. She seized Draco's hands and squeezed hard. "Your cousin Philip wants his Mummy to be told that he is sorry for using the broomstick, that he isn't afraid anymore. Your Aunt Aelia lives in the same wing as Neville Longbottom's parents. He visited them. You can visit your aunt. You can go and tell her. You can tell her what Philip wants her to know."

"And what's the bloody point of that?" Draco demanded. "She won't understand?"

Hermione huffed a breath. "Neville's parents never really understood that he was there. Only sort of, just barely, but not  _really_. But he went just the same, and it mattered. Go see your Aunt Aelia in St Mungo's, Draco."

He stared at her for a very long time, his hands shaking ferociously inside of hers. His bottom lip shook, too, and finally he whispered,

"I need you to come with me. Please."

Hermione kissed his forehead. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

He raised his eyes to her and said very firmly, "I'm a repentant Death Eater, Miss Granger, and all I want to do is to pay a quick visit to my aunt."

* * *

"Right this way, Mr Malfoy. Miss Granger." the uniformed Mediwitch led Hermione and Draco up to a stout wooden door. " _Alohomora_. We keep the ward locked to prevent any resident patients who might get confused and wander. Of course, Mr Malfoy, your aunt Aelia is kept in maintenance."

"How long will she be… vegetative?" Draco asked, and the Mediwitch said hesitantly,

"F-Forever, I'm afraid. Just this way, please."

Draco looked like he was going to be sick on the floor as he followed the Mediwitch. There was bed after bed with blank-staring patients, ones sitting up and mindlessly doing puzzles. Hermione passed Gilderoy Lockhart, who was staring at himself in a silver mirror and telling a story about a tiger who befriended a grasshopper. Hermione stared as she walked by. A few curtains down, Frank and Alice Longbottom were in adjacent beds, and Hermione paused. She took a shaking sigh and said very firmly,

"Mr and Mrs Longbottom… your son is a hero. I just want you both to know that."

Alice Longbottom waved and grinned, her paper-white skin looking like it would crumple at the slightest touch. Hermione just smiled a little at the Longbottoms and then followed Draco, who whispered,

"Bellatrix did that to them, didn't she?"

"Yes, she did," Hermione confirmed, and Draco's face went grey-green. Finally they came to a lonely bed narrowly situated between two curtains. On the bed was a very thin woman in her mid-thirties, pretty and blonde with elegant features. She looked like she was sleeping, except for her white lips and the black circles beneath her eyes that made her seem dead.

"She'll never wake?" Draco asked, and the Mediwitch just shook her head.

"There's no recovery from a Dementor's Kiss, I'm afraid."

"She should just move on," Draco murmured, "so she could be with him. With Philip."

"I'll leave you be," the Mediwitch said. "I'll be at the ward's entrance when you're ready to leave."

"Thank you," Hermione said sincerely. Once the Mediwitch had gone, Draco took a few hesitant steps up to the bed. He crouched down just a little and hesitated before taking his aunt's hand in his. She was limp and pale, and he seemed unnerved by the feel of her fingers in his palm. He gulped, and Hermione thought she ought to walk away. But Draco had wanted her here.

"Aunt Aelia," Draco said very seriously, "I know you can't hear me, or understand me, and that there's no purpose at all to this. But I have to tell you. We've never met, you and I, not until now, because you gave birth to my cousin by way of a Muggle. That was enough, it would seem, to see you expelled from our family. I almost envy that. My father betrayed you. I'll never forgive him, and I've loads of reasons for that, but this is a big one. Betraying you, betraying… your little boy…"

Draco shut his eyes and stood, bending at the waist. Hermione could hardly hear him then as he said beside Aelia's ear,

"Philip is very sorry that he broke the rules when he tried to escape the Snatchers. He was just trying to get away. He died when he fell from a broomstick. They Vanished his body. They gave you the Dementor's Kiss, but he doesn't know that, and he keeps saying… he's told me through the Veil, over an over and over again… to please tell his mother that he is sorry and that he isn't afraid anymore. Please, Aunt Aelia… wherever your soul is, whatever has become of it… I hope it can help Philip find somewhere permanent and peaceful."

Draco sniffed a little, and Hermione shifted on her feet. Draco glanced at Hermione, and she gave him a reassuring nod. Draco rubbed a little at the chalky white hand he'd taken.

"Aunt Aelia," he whispered, "Philip is all right. He's not afraid. He just needs to move on. Please, somehow, can you help your little boy move on? I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Aunt Aelia. I'm sorry for all of it. For all of it. Goodbye."

He stood up, dropping his aunt's hand unceremoniously on the bed, and he stormed away. He stomped past the Longbottoms, past Lockhart and the other residents of the Thickey ward, and then he barked at the Mediwitch,

"We're ready to go now."

Hermione trotted to keep up with him, but as soon as they'd left the ward, Draco had Disapparated.

She knew better than to follow him. He'd wanted her to come with him to the hospital, but right now he needed to be alone, Hermione thought. He'd come to her or write to her when he was ready to talk, or to not talk, or to eat jerk chicken again.

**Author's Note: Whew! That was a heavy chapter! Who's in the mood for some fluff and lemons coming up? THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to everyone who has left feedback on this story - but! Please know that I *will* delete any comments that say something along the lines of "Hermione dating an apologetic Draco is equivalent to Anne Frank dating an SS Officer." First of all, if you're 40,000+ words into a Dramione story, you've indicated that you accept and actually like the romantic pairing of Draco and Hermione. Secondly, there are many instances in history and in people's contemporary personal lives where they are raised in a hateful way, renounce that hatred/bigotry, and find their way into healthy relationships. And, finally, it's completely unacceptable to make a Holocaust comparison with a Dramione fanfic. Please, if you feel that strongly against Draco and Hermione working for wizarding reconciliation and dating, find another story. There are literally millions of HP fics. I apologize for this rant, but I just won't abide those comments. That's not "feedback." It's crossing a line. For those who have engaged in interesting conversations in the comments, given constructive praise and criticism, I am very grateful for your readership and your commentary. End rant! Thanks so much for reading.**


	17. Reparifors

"Hello."

"Hello." Draco shoved his hands into the pockets of the stylish denims he'd put on and peered into Hermione's house. She stepped aside to let him in, and she said gently,

"My parents are in Scotland for the weekend. Since next week's my birthday, they thought they'd go now. They used to go there all the time, but I had some trouble restoring their memories… you know, the specific memories of Scotland. So they went to Edinburgh for the weekend. Anyway. I've missed you."

Draco shut the door behind him and stepped out of his black leather shoes. "I've missed you, too, Granger."

"Are we back to that now?" Hermione's heart raced a little. It had been more than a week since she'd seen or heard from Draco. He shook his head and asked in a cracked sort of voice,

"Have you… have you got tea?"

"Oh. Yes. Of course. Have a seat." Hermione pulled out her wand and rushed into the white tiled kitchen, setting water to boil with a quick spell as she pulled two mugs from the cupboard. She stuck bags of Earl Grey into the mugs and pulled a lemon from the refrigerator, slicing it up and squeezing a little juice into each mug. She poured the hot water over the mugs and waited for them to steep, and she called,

"I don't recall giving you this exact address."

"I got it from your boss at the Ministry," Draco said simply, and Hermione couldn't help smiling a little. Once the tea had steeped, she threw the bags into the rubbish bin and carried the tea carefully into the sitting room. Draco gratefully picked his mug up, wrapping his hands around it, and he said,

"I had intended on asking you to go on a date with me. Dinner. A film. A fucking walk in the park. I dunno. But then I made a very stupid decision; I went to Malfoy Manor."

"Oh." Hermione sat and set her mug before her. Draco sipped from the scalding hot liquid and kept his eyes shut as he asked,

"Do I still have two black eyes?"

"Black eyes?" Hermione scowled. "Why would you have two black eyes?"

"Well, I was duelling my father, until my mother put a stop to it." Draco set his tea down and said crisply, "I demanded that he apologise for what he did to my Aunt Aelia, to my cousin Philip. He  _laughed_ , Hermione. He thought it was  _funny_ , what they did to his sister. So I Hexed him; I broke his knees."

"You… oh, Draco." Hermione touched at her forehead and listened as Draco continued,

"He healed himself and sent a punch straight to my gut before Stupefying me. When I came to, my mother was screaming at him, but I tried again to Hex him, and before I could, he pinned me to the wall with a spell, said I'd become a  _Mudblood-fucking disgrace of a blood traitor_ , and he treated me to two black eyes and a blood nose and mouth. My mother pulled him away and I Disapparated. I tried to fix myself up in the alley outside before I came in. I don't feel much like the cinema now. Sorry."

"Draco." Hermione shook her head and whispered, "I think it's best if you, perhaps, don't contact your family for awhile, don't you?"

"I don't really ever want to speak to him again," Draco spat. He sniffed a little and admitted, "That word stung so badly, and it wasn't even meant for me."

"Mudblood," Hermione nodded, and Draco winced.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, "that I said it to you. That I used it… I was a stupid child, and I -"

"My parents are in a different country and my bedroom is upstairs," Hermione said suddenly. When Draco gave her a confused look, she shrugged and tipped her chin up rather imperiously. "A  _Mudblood-fucking disgrace of a blood traitor_ , eh? Well… perhaps you ought to prove him right on all those fronts. He can't wound you if you decide those words are compliments."

Draco smirked just a little bit, pulling his wand out and spinning it in his fingers. He looked acutely Muggle today, Hermione thought. He'd worn denims and a dark blue jumper. The blue made his hair and eyes look nice.

"Draco," she said quietly, and when he finally looked up, she asked meaningfully, "How's work been?"

"He's gone," Draco said simply, and Hermione knew that he meant Philip, his cousin. Hermione swallowed hard.

"He moved on?"

"I don't know the mechanics of it," Draco said rather sharply. "I haven't heard his voice in nearly a week. I've been recording mundane whispers, things that don't matter to me. I've been distracted by thoughts of you, Hermione. The ways you've helped me, the ways I feel about you, and I… I was going to Conjure you flowers before I rang the doorbell, but I realised I'm not actually very good at Conjuring flowers."

"I don't need flowers," Hermione whispered. She rose and walked to the overstuffed sofa upon which Draco was sitting. She straddled him and sank down, taking his face in her hands. "I thought you'd just decide to disregard me entirely."

"I wrote you sixteen letters," Draco murmured as Hermione put her lips to his. Now, close up, she could see the shadows of the black eyes, the swelling in the bridge of his nose, the marks of what his father had done to him. She kissed his cheekbones as he said, "None of the letters sounded right."

"Take this off." Hermione peeled off his blue jumper, and Draco seemed eager to let her do it. She bent to kiss his collarbone, stroking at his chest and his abdomen as she whispered, "He hurt you here, too."

He hissed a little as she brushed her knuckles over his shoulders and neck, and Draco hissed in pain. Hermione reached for her wand and dragged the tip of it around the bruising.

" _Episkey… Reparifors…_ "

"Thanks," Draco mumbled, and Hermione watched as the bruises mostly faded. She kissed his mouth then, tasting the lemon and tea on him, and she let him unbutton her collared black shirt and push it away. He curled her tongue with his as he unclasped her bra, and as he pulled it away, he sucked her lip between his bottom teeth. He squeezed at a breast, and Hermione gasped at how tender and painful that was.

"Draco," Hermione mumbled, feeling regret strike her through, "I nearly forgot… it's… erm, rather a bad time of the calendar, if you know what I mean."

She was on the last day of her period, but she wasn't exactly in the mood for a mess. Draco looked a little disappointed, but Hermione reminded him,

"I promised you I was going to reciprocate, didn't I?"

Draco's mouth fell open. "You don't have to -"

"I'd like to." She slithered down off his lap and unbuttoned his denims. Pulling down the zip and then yanking them over his hips with his underwear. He was already mostly hard when she pulled him out, and she smiled a little as she wrapped her hand around his shaft.

"You really are big, you know," she said, and Draco scoffed.

" _Big_  and  _Bigger than Weasley_ are not synonymous."

"Well, you're plenty big to make me feel very full when you're inside of me." Hermione gave him a heavy look, raising her eyebrows, and suddenly Draco's snark dissolved. His throat bobbed as Hermione leaned forward, holding his shaft securely as she licked up the bottom of it. When she reached the sensitive place on the bottom, where the shaft met the tip, Draco groaned and grabbed helplessly at a throw pillow.

Hermione suckled his tip into her mouth, letting the ridge of the tip's base drag bag and forth over her wet lips. Draco liked that quite a lot, and he liked it even more when Hermione caressed that sensitive bottom place with flicks of her tongue. She pulled his length down, down, down her throat until the tip bumped her gag reflex, and then she forced herself through watering eyes to make a swallowing motion.

That was almost too much, apparently. Draco snared his fingers into Hermione's wild waves and hissed,

"Bloody hell, Hermione…"

"Mmmph." She pulled him nearly all the way out, playing with the tip again, using her lips and tongue to toy with the meeting place. Then she suckled him deeply again, and Draco's head fell back. His bare chest heaved with frantic breath. Hermione started to pump her hand along the shaft that was now lubricated with saliva, and she used her other hand to brush over his forearm, his stomach, and his chest.

She moaned loudly against him, knowing the vibration would feel good. She could sense that his body was tensing up, tightening and preparing to snap. She could see his balls draw up nearer to his cock, could feel him go rock solid and swell up in her mouth. She felt his fingers shake against her scalp, felt them tighten and cinch, and she was sopping wet between her own legs. She growled in frustration, wanting him more badly than she could say, and the growl seemed to shove Draco over the edge.

"Oh, oh,  _oh_ … fuck, Hermione; if you don't want to swallow it, you'd best -"

"Mmmph," Hermione mumbled again, bravely diving down onto his length. He cried out and arched his back, his pale chest gleaming with a little sweat as his come pumped into Hermione's throat. She gulped fast and hard, trying to get it all down past her tongue so that the bitter, metallic taste didn't overwhelm her. She didn't gag, not one little bit. Instead she pulled away and dragged her thumb over her swollen, wet lips, and Draco shivered.

"Fuck. Fuck…  _fuck_ , Granger," he whispered.

"Language, Mr Malfoy," Hermione teased him. She slapped playfully at his hip from where she knelt and barked softly, "Ten points from Slytherin."

"Yeah, well, a hundred points to Gryffindor for  _that_."

Hermione finally put her bra and shirt back on, and as Draco did the same, she warmed up their tea that had gone cold. She curled up on the sofa beside Draco and sipped at her tea as she whispered,

"You give me enormous physical pleasure. I hope I return the favour, just a little bit."

"Understatement of the century," Draco drawled, sipping from his mug. He flicked his blue eyes to her and said very seriously, "You're the only reason I'm not alone these days, and I like being with you. I like to spend time with you. I like being physical with you, talking with you, laughing… laughing with you. I don't laugh very much anymore."

"I'm sorry about what happened at your parents' house," Hermione told him, sitting up a little. Draco shrugged and mumbled,

"Some people won't ever see reason. For some people, the terrible language and the awful ideas… well, some people like that language and think they were great ideas. My father, apparently, is still among that crowd. My mother isn't as clear. In any case, I won't be returning to Malfoy Manor any time soon."

"I can't believe your own father Stupefied you and bruised you up," Hermione whispered, and Draco snorted a little.

"My mother mollycoddled me, and my father acted as though I was the most important student Hogwarts had ever had. But, one time, when I was about five years old, I stole some sweets from a container. There was a party happening, and I stole some sweets ahead of time. He used his walking stick and beat me by hand, and at the party, when people asked why I was bruised up, he told them that I was a little thief and I'd learnt my lesson."

There was a very, very long pause then, for Hermione didn't really know what to say. Finally Draco added,

"All the while I was taught that Purebloods were far superior, that Muggle-borns shouldn't even exist, that wealth and prestige made you important and powerful. Everything they drilled into me, I took to Hogwarts."

"We aren't at Hogwarts anymore," Hermione said. "And, while what your father did to his sister and nephew is unfathomable… somehow, Draco, by talking with your aunt, you set Philip free into whatever is beyond. You're doing good work."

"So are you," Draco nodded. "Heard you're draughting legislation to make Squib registration fully optional."

"Where'd you hear that?" Hermione grinned, and Draco smirked.

"My department's got eyes and ears all over the place."

"Spooky," Hermione teased. She leaned to kiss Draco's cheekbone then, and she reminded him, "My parents are in Scotland for the weekend. Are you very certain you wouldn't like to go out for cheap, greasy dinner and then a shit film at the cinema?"

"You know," Draco smiled, setting his tea on the table, "Fake butter sound awfully good just now, after all."

**Author's Note: Fluff n' lemons! Woo hoo! Real Live Plot to continue shortly… including Hermione's birthday and reactions to that from Draco, Harry, Ron, Ginny, Kingsley, Mr Tratt, and Hermione's parents. :) Thank you for reading and a HUGE thank you for any reviews.**


	18. Australian Opal

"We need to get a lot better at choosing films to see," Draco complained as they stepped back into Hermione's parents' house. "That one hit a little close to home."

"I'm sorry! The newspaper gave it good reviews!" Hermione took off her jacket and hung it up. She and Draco had seen the film  _Sunshine_ , starring Ralph Fiennes, but the themes of Nazism and Soviet rule had been unfamiliar Muggle concepts that felt a bit too heavy so soon after Voldemort's defeat. Hermione sighed as Draco kicked off his shoes, and she asked, "How about something to drink? My mum's favourite is gin and tonic, so I can make a million of those."

"Gin and tonic. Sure." Draco followed Hermione through the sitting-room and into the kitchen, and he watched as she took out two tumblers from a cupboard. She moved smoothly then, putting a few ice cubes from the freezer into each glass, pouring four parts tonic water from cans and then three parts gin from a big glass bottle. She frowned and noted,

"I haven't got lime… wait. There's lemon."

She took a lemon from the refrigerator, put it on the counter, and pulled out her wand,

" _Lima!_ " she exclaimed, tapping the lemon five times. It Transfigured into a lime, and she peeled off swirls of it with a few careful  _Diffindo_  charms. She handed Draco the finished drink, and he smiled as he said,

"Funny to see you use ice from a Muggle kitchen appliance and then magic to finish off the drinks."

Hermione shrugged and said, "Life for Muggle-borns is always about bridging two very different worlds. It's even worse for Squibs, as I'm finding out through interviews."

She leaned back against the counter and sipped at her drink. Draco took a sip, nodded with approval, and asked,

"How many interviews have you done?"  
"Are you actually interested in my work for Squib rights?" Hermione gave him an immensely sceptical look, but Draco didn't seem a bit offended. He nodded and said seriously,

"I'm interested."

Hermione took a bigger drink then, realising she'd made the gin and tonics a little strong. She cleared her throat and said thoughtfully,

"I had a woman in my office two days ago who's our age. She prefers  _woman_  instead of  _witch_ , obviously. Anyway… she's a Mulciber. She was sent to the Borrows Home when the rest of us went to Hogwarts."

"Oh. Tilly Mulciber. I remember her… when we were little, our families ran in the same circles. She disappeared. I suppose it never really mattered to me why she wasn't on the Hogwarts Express."

Hermione dragged her thumb over the rim of her glass and then took another sip.

"Well, Tilly told me that the Borrows Home teaches basic History of Magic, that the literature is half-wizarding and half-Muggle, but that they do a fair job of teaching practical Muggle skills like cooking and cleaning by hand. The problem is that it's entirely residential, which allows families - mostly Pureblood - to simply dump their unwanted Squib children and pretend they don't exist."

"I'm sure that happens quite a lot," Draco nodded. "If I were in her shoes, I reckon I'd just want to go live as a Muggle."

"Well, as soon as she aged out of Borrows, that's precisely what Tilly did. She only came to the interview because I practically begged her in a letter I sent by Muggle post. She works in a Muggle factory; she makes parts for luxury automobiles in a high-tech assembly line."

"I don't know what that means," Draco admitted, looking a little ashamed. Hermione smiled just a bit and said,

"There are expensive brands of car, just like expensive brands of broomstick. The factory that manufactures luxury bits spends more time on them, and the same person makes the same piece over and over so they do it right."

"That sounds awful." Draco swigged at his glass, and Hermione shrugged.

"She has a happy life with a Muggle boyfriend. They have a dog and a cat. She's taking Muggle university courses part-time; she wants to go into business. She hasn't spoken to her parents since before the war ended. And when I made the suggestion to her of Squibs opting out, of them erasing all record of their existence from the wizarding world if they want, she seemed very enthusiastic."

"So the idea," Draco said, tipping his head, "is that those who lack the ability to participate fully in the Magical world should be able to leave it entirely without the Ministry or others tracking them."

"Right." Hermione drank again, starting to feel the dull buzz of drink as she reached the bottom of the tumbler. She didn't feel like getting drunk tonight. She dumped out the ice cubes in the sink and rinsed her glass, filling it with cold water that she drank. From behind her, Draco said quietly,

"You're bloody brilliant, you know."

She smiled down into her glass of water and turned slowly to face him. He set his mostly-empty tumbler down on the counter and pursed his lips.

"I wish I didn't have to wait until your birthday to give you the gift I bought you. I've other plans for your birthday, you know. A very nice date with no fake butter or anything. But I bought you something, and I want to give it to you now. I don't want to wait a week."

Hermione laughed a little and stepped closer to him, snaking her arms up and around his neck.

"You, Mr Malfoy, have always been an impossibly impatient creature. Always very, very eager to get what you want."

"What I want is to give this to you." Draco sounded frustrated as he reached into his pocket. He pulled his fist out and opened it, and on his palm lay a silver chain with a round pendant of beautiful blue opal. Hermione gasped quietly and picked up the necklace, studying it carefully. Draco seemed humiliated as he confessed,

"It's just sterling silver, I'm afraid. I haven't got the sort of money I used to… anyway… it's Australian. The opal. I thought it might be a sort of reminder, but if I've miscalculated, then -"

"You've calculated perfectly." Hermione's hand shook ferociously around her glass of water, and Draco took it quickly from her. He set it down beside his gin and tonic and asked,

"It's all right, then? Sorry I couldn't wait. I was nervous."

"Nervous," Hermione whispered, shaking her head. She held the circle of blue Australian opal in her palm, and suddenly she was taken back to the moment she'd found her parents. She'd walked into Granger Dentistry, a freshly-owned clinic in Melbourne, and had stared her mother straight in the eyes.

' _Have you got an appointment?'_  her mother had asked, and Hermione had just shaken her head and raised her wand and had begun the immensely complex process of restoring her mother's memory.

Melbourne, Australia. The place where she'd found her family again.

Draco had limited funds these days, she knew. His salary from the Ministry was enough to buy him a home and food and clothes, but he wasn't fabulously wealthy like he'd been growing up. This was a simple necklace, but he'd probably had to scour Muggle shops to find one that had real Australian opal. And Hermione could tell, too; it looked just like the stuff that had been on offer in tourist shops in Melbourne.

"Draco," she whispered, feeling dizzy all of a sudden.

"I ought to have waited to give it to you," he was mumbling. Hermione dragged her fingers over the opal and shook her head again, but Draco continued, "I can never wait for anything; I have to practise waiting for what I want, but I was terrified you'd hate it or something."

"Hate it?" Hermione raised her burning eyes to him. "I adore it. I adore you."

He smiled then, looking genuinely happy, and he carefully took the necklace from her hand. Hermione shoved her hair out of the way as he laced it around her neck and fastened the clasp. Then she let her hair go and touched at the opal sitting on her collarbone, and she whispered,

"I'm in love with you, Draco Malfoy."

He gave her a little smirk as he took her face in his hands and gently kissed her lips.

"Happy early birthday, Granger."

* * *

**Author's Note: Sorry for this suuuuuuuper short and fluffy chapter, but I have basically no writing time today, and the next chapter has some conflict (*cough cough* Harry, Ron, and Ginny *cough cough*), so I wanted to go ahead and pop this lil' fluff ball of a chapter up. Thanks as always for reading.**


	19. They're Probably Right

" _Tripped over a tree root," growled Ron, scrambling to stand again._

" _Well, with feet that size, hard not to," said a low, cocky voice. Hermione turned to see Draco Malfoy standing alone, relaxing against a tree with his arms folded across his chest._

" _Go fuck yourself, Malfoy," Ron sneered, and Draco's pale blue eyes gleamed with delight as he said lightly,_

" _Language, Weasley. Hadn't you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn't like her spotted, would you?" He jerked his chin toward Hermione, who felt a flush of indignation at once. Suddenly there was an explosion like a mortar blast from the campsite. A violent flash of jade green light burst all around them. Hermione stayed focused on what Draco had said - that they wouldn't want Hermione spotted._

" _What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, and Draco laughed viciously._

" _Granger, they're after Muggles. Do you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around... they're moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh."_

" _Hermione's a witch." Harry's voice was like ice._

" _Have it your own way, Potter," said Draco with a very mean-spirited smile. "If you think they can't spot a Mudblood, stay where you are."_

" _You watch your mouth!" shouted Ron. Hermione's stomach twisted as Draco's voice using the awful word reverberated in her head._

" _Never mind, Ron," she said, grabbing Ron and yanking him back from Draco. There was another bang, louder and closer, and then several shrieks of terror. Draco gave his characteristic smirk and laughed a little._

" _Scare easily, don't they?" he said, sounding amused. "I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What's he up to — trying to rescue the Muggles?"_

" _Where're your parents?" demanded Harry, his snarl accusing. "Out there wearing masks, are they?"_

_Draco grinned wider than ever at Harry. "Well... if they were, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?"_

" _Oh come on," said Hermione, feeling flustered and irritated and hurt and angry. She glared at Draco and told her friends, "let's go and find the others."_

" _Keep that big bushy head down, Granger," Draco Malfoy sneered in a terrible voice._

" _Come on," Hermione said again, pulling at Harry and Ron as they made their way toward the path._

Hermione jolted awake, panting softly where she lay beside Draco in her soft bed. She stared at him in the moonlight, shaking like a leaf as she watched him sleep peacefully. Her heart was racing as she remembered the awful way Draco had behaved that fateful night at the Quidditch World Cup. Hermione gulped, studying Draco's face as she remembered all sorts of terrible things he'd done. She turned and snatched at the necklace he'd given her, the Australian opal pendant that she'd put on her bedside table for safekeeping.

"Hermione?" His voice was soft and gravelly beside her. "You all right?"

"Get out of my bed, Malfoy," Hermione whispered, so softly she could barely hear herself.

"What's the matter?" she heard Draco ask, and when he sat up and put his hand on her shoulder, she wrenched away and growled,

"Do not touch me."

Draco looked confused, and then an expression of realisation came over his face.

"I'm a different man than that boy was," he murmured, and Hermione knew he recognised the look of someone awakening from a nightmarish memory. She shook her head fiercely, throwing the necklace at him, but he said carefully, "Hermione, I love you, and I more sorry than I could ever properly express for -"

"Get out of my bed!" Hermione yelled, shoving at his shoulders. "There are some things that don't just erase themselves from your mind once an apology's been made, Draco. Get out. Get out now!"

He did, scrambling out from under her blankets. He reached for his wand and quickly Transfigured his pyjamas back into denims and the jumper they'd originally been. He cleared his throat softly and said,

"I don't suppose there's anything I could say right now. I suppose I haven't earned the right to anything more than your anger. But I do love you."

"Get out of my house." Hermione stared at him, and her mind was flooded with one memory after another.  _Nobody asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood._ Hermione tossed the opal necklace toward Draco and mimicked his voice as she quoted something he'd once said in Madam Malkin's. " _If you're wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in_. Then Madam Malkin told Harry and Ron to lower their wands, and I told them it wasn't worth a fight, and you taunted them, and you asked who had blacked up my eye, because you wanted to send them flowers."

Her eyes overflowed then, and she made absolutely no effort to stem the tears like she usually did. She didn't even wipe them away; she just sat there in her bed, glaring at Draco as he bent and picked up the opal necklace from the floor. He tucked it away and raked his fingers through his hair, and he whispered,

"I never actually expected you to accept my apology that day in the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione, and I still respect your right not to accept it. But I am sorry, and I am in love with you, and I have changed. I'll go now."

"Yes, do go now." Hermione's voice was thick as she shook her head and spat, "What a bloody stupid fool I was to let myself get drawn in by the horrid likes of you. Harry and Ron were right. They were right."

Draco just stared at her for a moment, his own eyes glistening, and he nodded once.

"Yeah. They're probably right. I did and said the worst things a person can do and say, and a lot of them I did directly to you. But I was very wrong then, and I'm very sorry now, and it's perfectly all right for you to go ahead and tell me fuck off."

Hermione shut her eyes and whispered, "Please just leave."

There was a soft crack, and when Hermione blinked her eyes open through the tears, Draco had Disapparated.

* * *

"Mum, Dad… why did you let me sleep so long?" Hermione rubbed at her eyes with a fist as she walked into the kitchen.

"Well, you took the day off for a reason, didn't you?" Her father grinned from the stove, where he was making up some eggs.

"A great load of owls came with letters and parcels. Birthday cards and gifts, I expect?" Her mother gestured to the table, where a little stack of envelopes and a few brown paper wrapped boxes sat. Hermione sank down into a chair, and she mumbled her thanks as her mother put a mug of tea before her.

"Happy birthday, dear. You've always been at school for your birthday; we haven't celebrated with you since you were very small," Mrs Granger said. Hermione tried to smile, but it didn't work. She hadn't smiled for almost a week now.

She opened the first card, which was a hand-drawn creation from Hagrid. There were cards from Bill and Fleur Weasley, from Ginny and George, from Mr and Mrs Weasley, from Neville… there was a little crystal with a note from Luna saying it would bring serenity in Hermione's 'useful but undoubtedly stressful work.' There was a book on the many uses of Alihotsy with a letter from Ron and Harry that said,

_We'll find our way back to one another. We always have, and we always will._

Hermione tried not to cry at that. She flipped through the book and tried again to smile, thanking her father when he put down eggs and back bacon and toast on a plate before her. She opened the last envelope, which was thick and lumpy, and her heart sank when she recognised the writing on the outside.

When she opened the envelope, the Australian opal necklace came tumbling out. Hermione set it silently on the table, and her mother breathed,

"Oh, this looks just like that opal they sold in Australia! I remember it. How lovely. Who's that from?"

"It… it doesn't matter," Hermione mumbled. She pulled out the stiff card of parchment inside and read the neat writing.

_Hermione,_

_Vanish it if you want, or throw it into a river, or flush it down a toilet. I'll keep my dream that one day you'll wear it. In any case, it belongs to you, so do with it whatever you please._

_I am sorry. For all of it. And I really did fall in love with you, Hermione. I really and truly did. I'll never stop being sorry, and I don't suppose it'll be easy to fall out of love with you, either._

_Happy birthday._

_Draco_

"Hermione, dear… are you all right?"

Hermione ignored her mother and Vanished Draco's letter. She stuffed the necklace into the pocket of her denims and said roughly,

"I ought not to have taken the day off work today. I have so much to do. I need to go into the office. Sorry."

She grabbed a piece of toast from her plate, and as she quickly walked from the kitchen, she heard her mother say in a resigned voice,

"Wouldn't be our Hermione if she could stand the thought of actually taking the day off."

* * *

"No reporter from the  _Daily Prophet_  here this time," Kingsley Shacklebolt noted as he signed one page after another of Hermione's Squib Rights legislation. She tried to smile. Again, it didn't work. This was day sixteen of not smiling. She finally said,

"Probably for the best, Minister. I apologise for what I said to the reporter last time."

"Your intentions are good, Hermione," Kingsley said as he signed the last page, "but the wizarding world just isn't ready to start holding hands and pretending we all like one another. There's a lot to be done before everyone plays nicely. Reform. The type of reform we're doing with legislation like this."

"Trust me; I've learnt my lesson," Hermione huffed. "I can see plainly now that nobody's actually ready to start throwing forgiveness around. That includes me."

Kingsley gave her a knowing look. He wrapped some twine around the bundle of documents and then sealed it with the wax seal of the Minister of Magic. He pressed a little brass circular button on his desk, and a moment later, his secretary walked in.

"Please file this new legislation with all appropriate records and offices and issue a brief statement to the  _Prophet_." Kingsley handed the legislation over. Hermione had gotten everything she'd wanted; it was now optional for parents and Squibs themselves to remove all records once Squib status was discovered. She swallowed hard, knowing she should feel victorious and instead feeling defeated.

"Thank you, Kingsley," she said, dropping the formality once the Minister's office was empty. He just nodded at her and assured her,

"You're doing good work."

"That's what everyone keeps saying," Hermione nodded. She left his office without another word and got into a lift to Level Four. She walked silently into her own office and slumped into her chair, touching her fingers to her forehead.

She hadn't spoken to Draco in sixteen days, but it felt like an eternity. Every time she remembered something terrible he'd done or said, she was met with the feeling of him being warm and kind. She'd tried telling herself that he was inherently wicked, that he was a bully to his core. Some other part of her had insisted that he'd been trained to be terrible, that he was like a dog taught to fight. He'd sat alone in the Leaky Cauldron and apologised, probably fully expecting a punch like the one she'd given him in their third year. Instead she'd given him her body, and he'd given her his, and they'd laughed together and had found areas of genuinely shared interest.

So now she couldn't decide if she had been an idiot to forgive him at all, or whether she was being heartless in refusing to recognise that a poorly-raised child could become an independently good-hearted adult.

It didn't help that there was something sitting on her desk in his handwriting. She picked up the little card and read it.

_H, Absolutely no obligation to come, but I've a craving for fake butter, so I'll be at the seven o'clock show tonight. I'll save a seat just in case. - D_

Hermione picked up the cinema ticket that had been sitting with the card. She scanned her eyes over it. It was for a showing tonight for a film called  _Boys Don't Cry_. Hermione huffed out a breath and tried to imagine sitting in a dark theatre with Draco Malfoy, their greasy fingers brushing against each other in their shared popcorn. She could see his face in the blue-grey light from the projector. She could hear him laughing afterward about how they'd chosen a bad film yet again.

_But don't touch my hand now. I've just washed it, you see; wouldn't want a Mudblood sliming it up._

Hermione's fingers shook around the ticket as she remembered the look of delighted hatred in Draco's blue eyes when he'd held out an anti-Harry Potter badge to her at school.

She tore the ticket up into ten little pieces and then aimed her wand at them, Vanishing the shreds and then the card he'd delivered to her desk. She cleared her throat and folded her hands on her desk, and she whispered aloud,

"No, Draco."

**Author's Note: Uh-oh. Maybe Ron was right, after all. Maybe certain things can't really be forgiven. Or will Hermione realize that Draco was basically a parrot for the bigotry and hatred that surrounded him in every imaginable way growing up? Can he convince her that he's really repentant? Does it matter? In real life, many people are raised by bigots and wind up saying and doing terrible things before coming to their senses. Their victims are under no obligation to forgive, but they do have the right to forgive. What choice will Hermione ultimately make?**


	20. The Veil

"Come on in!" Hermione set down the letter she was reading about her Squib legislation and looked up to see the door of her small office open. She grinned as it shut, and she flew to her feet. "Harry!"

"Hi. Nice digs," he said, sitting opposite her as Hermione felt real happiness for the first time in weeks. Harry's face was rather serious, so Hermione demanded,

"What's the matter?"

"You broke things off with Malfoy," he noted, and Hermione shrugged rather defensively.

"You should have thrown a party because of that, no?"

"Ron's dating Susan Bones," Harry pointed out, and Hermione shrugged again.

"That's his prerogative."

Harry drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair and sighed deeply, studying Hermione's face.

"You thought over some of the things he'd done and second-guessed yourself," Harry predicted, and Hermione scoffed.

"Why are you trying to get me back with Draco Malfoy?"

"Because you two obviously made each other very, very happy," Harry said. He scratched at his jaw, where just a little scruff had grown, and he said quietly, "Can I tell you something? I don't think that boy ever, ever hated you. I think he was parroting all the rubbish that had been screamed into his ears from both sides since the day he was born, but I don't think he ever hated you. Sometimes I'd see his eyes look at you… I was a boy, too, Hermione. He may have called you names and said insulting things to you, but I don't ever think he hated you."

Hermione huffed out a breath and reached into her pocket. She pulled out the Australian opal necklace that she put into her skirt or trouser pocket every morning, and she set it on the table. Harry picked it up and studied it, and he guessed,

"Opal?"

  
"From Australia, because that's where I found my parents," Hermione said. "He gave it to me a week before my birthday because he was nervous I wouldn't like it."

Harry smiled a little and handed the necklace back. Hermione instinctively put it on as Harry said,

"I'm not ready to double date with you and Ginny and Draco. Don't know if I'll ever be ready to be really friendly to him. Ron… Ron'll hate him forever."

"That's his right," Hermione said, but Harry continued,

"I saw Draco Malfoy getting into the lifts today, and he looked like he hadn't eaten or slept in a week. He never hated you, Hermione, and he sure as shit doesn't hate you now."

Hermione shut her eyes and reached to touch at the opal necklace. She buttoned up the caped cardigan robe she had on and covered the pendant, and she asked in a whisper,

"If I love him, in spite of all the wickedness, Harry, am I wicked, too?"

"No," he said at once. "No, I don't think we can help who we love. I fell in love with my best friend's mate. Didn't plan on that. It's not the same, I know, but…"

Hermione opened her eyes, and Harry said again,

"None of the rest of us are ready for him, Hermione, but he looks like he's dying without you. Maybe… at least ask him to tell you the truth."

"The truth?" Hermione repeated, and Harry clarified,

"Ask him what he really thought of you then, and what he thinks of you know. Just ask for the truth, and go from there."

* * *

" _Level Nine - Department of Mysteries._ "

Hermione walked down the dark corridor, past the blue-grey light from the lanterns, and she could hear Dumbledore's whispers. Apology and atonement. Recompense and redress.

The door slid open before she even neared it, and the tiny little witch who seemed to guard the department stepped out. Hermione frowned; the witch seemed twenty years older than the last time she'd seen her.

"Hermione… Granger… you must be here for Draco Malfoy," the witch said, her crumpled face illuminated by the bluish light from the walls. "This way."

Hermione followed the little witch into the confusing, round chamber and steadied herself as it rotated. When a stone door slid open, the little witch said firmly,

"Third door on the right. Press your palm."

"Wait…" Hermione whirled round, but the door to the Entrance Chamber had shut, and the rapidly aged witch had gone. Hermione's breath shook in the chilly corridor as she walked past four doors - two on the left and two on the right - and stopped in front of the unmarked door to Draco's office. She knocked, but after a long while, there was no reply. She pressed her palm to the door, and it slid very slowly open. Hermione stepped into Draco's small, minimalist office as the door shut behind her.

"Draco?"

He wasn't here. She studied the shelf of odd-looking silver metallic artefacts, the single bookshelf with four books about death and the afterlife. She looked at Draco's stout desk, upon which there were a few wooden boxes, a container of silvery whisper record cubes, some parchment, a quill, and some ink. But there was no Draco.

Suddenly Hermione looked up and saw it. The narrow door, the one that led beyond his office, was partially open.

That led to the Death Chamber.

Hermione gulped and approached the door, prying it open just enough to slide through. She stepped into the large, rectangular room, nearly empty and very dark. There was just a little stream of silvery light casting from an unseen source, partially illuminating the arch in the middle of the room. Hermione stared at the arch, remembering the sight of Sirius Black falling backward through it and disappearing. Very, very faintly, she could hear the sound of little whispers.

" _Lumos_. Who's there?"

She pulled her own wand out on instinct as Draco Malfoy came striding quickly toward her. He froze ten paces away, and in the pulsing blue-grey light of his wand, Hermione could see what Harry had meant. Draco looked awful. His hair was a mess. His face was thin and his skin looked papery. The circles below his eyes were plum-coloured and mottled. HIs lips were pale and chapped. Draco blinked a few times once he realised it was Hermione before him.

" _Nox_ ," he whispered. In the very dim light of the room that came after he'd snuffed out his wand, Hermione could see Draco walk briskly back over to a sharp bench upon which he'd apparently been sitting. He picked up a little silver cube and brushed his wand over it, setting it back down on the bench. He walked up toward the arch, and for a horrifying instant, Hermione had a mental image of Draco hurtling himself through the Veil.

But Draco just listened. He just stood there, staring at the gently undulating, wispy blanket that separated the living and the dead. He nodded as though someone had told him something directly, and then he stepped away, down the stairs and across the floor.

"Follow me," he said sharply, walking past Hermione and back into his office. She followed him, shivering with fear and unease, and she let him wrench the door to the Death Chamber shut. She stood in the little open space of Draco's office, and she demanded,

"When is the last time you ate or slept?"

"Why are you here?" Draco countered, and Hermione huffed a little breath. She crossed her arms over her chest and said in a rushed sort of ramble,

"I got caught up in the bad memories, the things you'd said and the things you'd done when your soul was too young to come to your own conclusions about any of this. I second-guessed the idea that you could be a good man now. All I could do was remember the bad things; I couldn't focus on the present. The night I sent you away, I dreamed of an awful thing you'd done. It was the night of the Quidditch World Cup, when we'd seen you in the forest and you'd mocked me, said they were coming for Muggles, and -"

"I was trying to save your life," Draco whispered, and Hermione froze. Draco shook his head a little, looking so weak she thought he might fall over. His eyes welled a little, and he admitted, "My father specifically asked me that night to find the Granger girl and let him know where you were. I did believe in Blood Purity. I did mean Mudblood as an insult when I said it. But that night, and the night years later at Malfoy Manor, I was very afraid you were going to die, and something inside of me screamed at me not to let that happen. It wasn't until the very end of the war that I realised no one deserved to die, and that there was no such thing as a Mudblood. It was you who made me see it, slowly, over time."

A very long and heavy silence followed then, and Hermione whispered at last,

"Oh."

"I was particularly cruel to you - even more than to other Muggle-borns - because the crush on you, the admiration I had for you, was completely taboo compared with the specific hatred I was meant to bear you. But I never hated you, Hermione. I never could make myself hate you. I was awful, and I'm very sorry for that. But it was easier than I'd imagined to fall in love with you, because I never hated you. Not the way they'd trained me to hate you."

"Oh," Hermione said again, remembering Harry's words up in her office. She reached beneath her cardigan and pulled out the opal necklace he'd bought for her. His dim eyes lit up a little when he saw it, and she asked him,

"Will you let me cook dinner tonight? Something very hearty. Cottage pie. I'll bake chocolate biscuits. We'll fall asleep in your bed at nine o'clock and sleep late; tomorrow's Saturday."

Draco shut his eyes and leaned against his desk a little as he muttered,

"That sounds... really nice."

"I am very sorry," Hermione said, and Draco opened his eyes, looking surprised. Hermione gulped and clarified, "I am very sorry that I assumed the worst of you, that I judged your adult self on the immature regurgitation of bigotry that you performed as a child. I am very sorry that I panicked and sent you away after one bad dream, that I didn't give you a chance to discuss any of it with me before cutting you off."

"Well, I'm sorry, too," Draco nodded. Hermione sighed very deeply.

"There are voices on the other side of the Veil telling me to stay the course, that together you and I can change things."

Draco smirked just a little and nodded. "Just today, I heard that same voice again. The one you think is Regulus Black. He said the same thing today that he said before. We died for him, but you can live for the others. Hermione, I was very alone and on the verge of having precisely no purpose before you came to my house. When you contemplated my apology and you forgave me, it was like a new man had been born within my broken, stupid little soul, and I… and then I fell in love with you, and I broke all over again when I thought perhaps there was no moving on, after all."

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered again. She stepped up to Draco and took his face in her hands, dragging her thumbs under his hollow, shadowed eyes, and she demanded again, "When did you last sleep or eat?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Three days, maybe."

Hermione nodded once, very firmly. "Cottage pie, then, and to bed at nine."

Draco tipped his head down and brushed his lips against Hermione's. He made a weak little noise, and he whispered,

"Oh, Merlin's Beard; I thought I'd never kiss you again."

"Kiss me," Hermione told him, squeezing his face a bit harder. "Kiss me as much as you like, Draco."

He did, pushing her back against the black tile wall and holding fast to her waist as he crushed her mouth with his. She felt the chap of his dried lips, felt the shake in his fingers, and she knew he needed rest and food. But right now, they needed each other. For weeks, they'd needed one another, and Hermione hadn't been able to see it. So she kissed Draco back as hard as she could, and in her mind, she thought,

_Thank you, Harry._


	21. Nice to Meet You

" _Perfringo Tuberosum._ " Hermione aimed her wand at the pot full of boiled, peeled potatoes with milk and butter. They began to mash themselves, and she smiled a little as she turned her attention to the glass dish full of meat, vegetables, and gravy. Once the potatoes had mashed themselves, she spooned them over the top and smoothed them out, adding a bit more gravy and licking her finger.

"Mmm," she said happily. "It's good."

"If I don't eat right this minute, I'm going to starve," Draco complained, and Hermione gave him a serious look.

"You ought to have been eating and sleeping, Draco."

"I don't mean to sound pathetic," he said as Hermione reluctantly dished out cottage pie onto china plates, "but I genuinely couldn't. I couldn't eat. I couldn't sleep; I could barely think. It was all I could do to Scour my teeth and deodorise myself before going to work in the morning."

"Because of me?" She turned and handed him a plate of food and a tall glass of water. Draco shrugged.

"It wasn't your fault."

They sat at the little nook in his kitchen by the window, and Hermione was shocked by the lack of grace with which Draco ate. He'd always been so refined, so carefully tutored in manners and decorum. He'd seemed like a right snob at Hogwarts. But he tucked so fiercely now into Hermione's cottage pie that her mouth fell open in surprise. She sipped her own water and took a few bites as Draco made almost sexual noises of delight.

"I was so hungry, and I had no idea," he said, gulping water down and finishing off the rest of his plate in three enormous bites. Hermione was only half done, so she asked,

"More?"

"N-No. Thanks." Draco tipped his head back and admitted, "Mmph. That was good. Thank you."

Hermione just smiled a little and took another bite or two before Vanishing the remains of their food, Scouring the plates and pots, and Banishing everything back to the cupboards.

"I need to take a shower," Draco informed her. "A real, hot, long shower."

"Can I join you?" Hermione hadn't meant to sound like a vixen, but the way Draco looked at her made her feel very self-conscious, and she immediately stammered, "I mean… I'm sorry if I…"

"Yes, please do join me," Draco murmured. He rose from his chair and took Hermione's hand, leading her quickly out of the kitchen and toward the staircase. She followed him up, her bare feet pattering on the steps. In the bathroom, they took turns cleaning their teeth with brushes and Peppermint Scouring Powder. Hermione watched Draco shamelessly strip his clothes, and she slowly started to remove her caped cardigan, the vest underneath, her bra and skirt and knickers… but she left her necklace on.

"Will you take your hair down?" Draco asked, and Hermione touched her fingers carefully to the braided bun at the back of her head.

"I'm not going to wash it," she said meekly. "Dries out if I wash it every day."

"Oh." Draco pretended like that made sense, and his eyes flicked down to the cock that was growing visibly harder by the second. Hermione followed him into the shower, standing away from the stream as it heated up. She let him wrap his arms around her and pull her under the water, keeping her hair away. She let him scrub her down with exfoliating soap that smelled of roses and something darker - black pepper? She let him touch her everywhere, and it felt  _good_. It felt very good to have Draco Malfoy's hands rubbing circles around her breasts and sliding over her ribcage. She washed him when it was her turn, and her fingers noted the little dusting of blond hair all over him. He was far from hairy, but it was there, and she noticed. His arms, lean and narrow but curved with muscle, had blond hair on them. So did his hips and his pelvic area, which was a place her hands didn't want to leave. She caressed him there, dragging her hand up and down his length as Draco hurried to wash and condition the icy blond hair on his head. He shoved it all backward and snatched Hermione's face in his hands then, and he whispered,

"I want to fuck you."

"Draco!" Hermione's cheeks went hot, but he shook his head.

"I have been terrified for the last few weeks that I would die alone, that I would die with you hating me, without ever having touched you again. I need to… to  _fuck_  you."

"All right." Hermione reached around him and turned off the water, and as they stood shivering in the echoing tiled shower, she mumbled, "Go on and fuck me, then."

He growled a little as he yanked her wrist and dragged her from the shower. Hermione was surprised by the force in his movements as he brought her to his neatly made bed and shoved her roughly down onto her stomach. She was dragged to the edge, her thighs wrenched apart as Draco's fingers began to play with her.

"Oh…" She went wet almost immediately, the water from the shower drying cold on her skin and making everything prickle with sensitivity. Draco's other hand coursed over her back, and as his fingers twisted into her, he whispered,

"I couldn't sleep or eat, Hermione, because all I could think of was the way I had never been able to make myself hate you, and how very easily I found myself tumbling into love with you. Do you understand?"

"I think so." Hermione buried her face into his blankets, crying out wordlessly as his fingers twisted and pumped. His thumb flicked at her nub, and his other hand squeezed her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Draco," she heard herself say, turning her head a little. "I couldn't make the memories go away well enough to remind myself of who you are now."

"And who am I now?" His voice was rough, gravelly and hollow, and Hermione glanced up to try and find his eyes. She had to wrench her eyes shut as a subtle climax took her over, and she heard Draco grunt as he felt her walls clenching around his fingers. He let his hand slide from her, and he leaned down to ask again, "Who am I now?"

"You're a brave wizard, intelligent enough to think for yourself in a world that had been set up to make you believe you were better than everyone else. Strong enough to listen to the dead every day. Bold enough to take on your father. Principled enough to live in loneliness because you know that associating with your old crowd for the sake of company would be wrong. You're a wizard who's made me fall madly in love with you in spite of our pasts. You're Draco Malfoy, and I'm Hermione Granger, and we are alone together, you and I.  _Agh!_ "

She cried out and grasped at the blankets then, for Draco had shoved himself into her soaked entrance. He started pounding her at once, his hands gripping her waist as his lips touched between her shoulder blades and then below her ear.

"Hermione… Hermione…" He chanted her name like a plea, like a prayer. One of his hands left her waist and covered her fist on the blanket, and his lips pressed hard against her cheek. She felt herself shoved roughly against the bed as he buried himself to the hilt and moaned softly. She could feel his come trickling back out a moment after his hips stilled, and he shuddered behind her.

She stayed still as Draco reached with a shaking hand for his wand and stood up.

" _Scourgify… Tergeo… Tergeo… Scourgify…_ "

His voice shook like mad as he cleaned them both up. Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall. Two minutes past nine.

"We're late to bed," she informed Draco, crawling up onto the blankets and tucking herself naked beneath them. Draco seemed surprised by her apparent desire to sleep nude, but Hermione just patted the place beside her and waited for him to come. When he did, she held out her hand, and he stared at it. Finally he shook it, a gesture not commonly used in the wizarding world.

"Hello. Nice to meet you. I'm Hermione Granger," she said, and she saw realisation come over his face. The past was dead. The past was gone. All that mattered was here and now, the people they were right in this minute, the values they held in the present. She was giving him a fresh start, and she was asking for the same. So he shook her hand again and gave her a little smile, and he said,

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Granger. I'm Draco Malfoy."

**Author's Note: Sorry for the short update, but I had two very separate writing blocks today. Haha. Hope everyone has a great New Year celebration planned. Thanks for reading - fifty points to your House if you leave a review. ;)**


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